


Unholy

by adoctoraday



Series: Josh Brolin Can Get It [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Josh Brolin - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Catholic School, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration in Two Holes, F/M, Falling In Love, Forced Orgasm, Grief/Mourning, Idiots in Love, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Making Love, Multiple Orgasms, New York City, Older Man/Younger Woman, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Priest Kink, Priests, Public Blow Jobs, Relationship Negotiation, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M, Vibrators, eating pussy, priest Josh brolin, priest/student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: Father Brolin is a good man. At least, he’s always thought so; he cares for the poor and the sick and the needy, and when he’s not writing sermons, he’s the principal at the local Catholic School.Angel Rossi is a good girl. At least, she thought she was; when her misbehavior and impertinent questioning of Catholic beliefs gets her sent to Father Brolin, two formerly good people’s worlds collide and will never be the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If y’all are here from tumblr, welcome, welcome. We’ve all seen the shit show going down there, so I’m working on moving my fics here! Please comment, it means the world!!

It was your senior year when things changed. You were 18, preparing for college, and with each passing day, the strain of the expectations surrounding you wore you down more and more. 

Your class list included AP Statistics, AP Spanish, AP English and AP Chemistry. You were captain of the field hockey team, debate club and student body president. As eldest of your siblings, willowy with handsome Mediterranean features and a whip sharp intellect, you were the pride of your family. 

In addition to all of that, you were an altar server and Sunday school teaching assistant. 

You were every Catholic parent’s dream come true, especially your own. 

Except it was all a lie.

You were anxious, distracted and exhausted, constantly striving to maintain the facade of perfection you had to keep in order to make your mother happy and your father proud.

You drank energy drinks after school to get through debate club and took power naps during your free periods, curled in the corner of the library. A friend’s boyfriend from another school gave you ritallin to help you focus and stay awake at night while you finished your paper and all the other homework you had.

As a student at the local Catholic school, St. Theresa’s, it was expected that you would go on to a good religious school and become a teacher, as your mother had.

Except that wasn’t what you wanted.

You wanted to study art history with a focus on women’s studies and feminism. You wanted to write books and papers and speak at conferences. You wanted...to be free.

To your parents, this was blasphemy of the highest order.

The one time you had tried to discuss your future with them and had tentatively mentioned your desire to study art history, your mother has cried, asking what she had done to fail you as a parent. Your father had shaken his head and given you a look of disappointment coupled with the silent treatment.

You didn’t mention it again.

It seemed that life was handing you an opportunity this fall though, you had been assigned a paper in AP English on any topic, so long as it was at least 20 pages, in proper MLA format. You had leapt at the chance to show your affection for art history and began researching works of art until, one fateful day, you stumbled upon the story of St. Theresa of Avila.

Her account of an angel so beautiful it hurt to look upon thrusting his spear into her heart repeatedly, the pain so sensational it was ecstatic, left you shaken. The details of the story were enthralling, as were the theories of what had likely actually happened. 

You consumed every detail about her, notebook growing thick with your elegant cursive, and when the school’s library proved insufficient, you went to the public one.

By the time your paper was due you had dark circles under your eyes and had lost weight you didn’t really have to spare. With SAT’s around the corner, you had pulled all night study sessions, skipped a few practices, and fallen asleep in class. 

But your paper...it was perfect. With exhaustion creeping up your spine and drawing your lids down with every few breaths, you handed it in nervously and then went to the library for your free period, intent on taking a nap.

Curling up against the wall in the art history section, you spread your jacket over you as a blanket and tucked your backpack beneath your head as a lumpy pillow. Within minutes, you were fast asleep, snoring lightly.

It was at this time, fate intervened. 

Father Brolin had received word from your English teacher of the content of your paper, and after reviewing it, had come looking for you. He found you where you had fallen asleep and stood above you, watching you sleep. 

 

Father Brolin had a reputation as a kind, thoughtful and intelligent man, with a firm hand for those who misbehaved or needed guidance. He had been proud of the many students who had come before you, shining brightly in a sea of stars, but when your papers ended up on his desk more than a few times arguing for tolerance from the church on gay marriage, female priests, abortion, and numerous other topics considered anathema by scholars far more learned, well, he was impressed.

The spark of brilliance in your papers and the fiery way you wrote intrigued him so deeply he had taken to attending the debate meets you captained so he could hear your meolodic voice grow heated and impassioned.

He was impressed and fascinated not just with your well reasoned and passionate arguments, but with your athletic prowess as well. When you had led the debate team to state championships last year and scored the winning goal in the regional field hockey tournament, he had known there was something different about you.

He was a smart man, so he knew his fascination with you was inappropriate for a man of his age and supposed moral standing, but he tried to reason it was only intellectual curiosity that drove him and not the way his heart would beat faster at the sight of you verbally eviscerating your opponents, or the way his skin would flush when you let out a primal scream of victory on the field during hockey.

Looking down at you now, concern filled him. It was clear you were working too hard and clearly weren’t getting enough sleep. A student passed by and stood by a shelf, peering at the books and Father Brolin stiffened his shoulders, putting on his facade of the firm handed Father.

Bending over slightly, he laid a hand on your shoulder and shook you, calling your name until you woke with a start, heart pounding in your chest. Wide eyed, you stared up at Father Brolin and then cleared your throat, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I’m so sorry Father Brolin, I know we aren’t supposed to sleep in the library, but I was up late working on my AP English paper,” you told him, voice hoarse and sleepy. 

He nodded slowly and glanced over to where a student was watching you from the stacks. “I understand that Ms.Rossi. However, you’ve slept through Chemistry and there is an issue with your paper I need to speak with you on,” he replied, voice low and soft.

Your anxiety ratcheted up and you clumsily gathered your things, sputtering out protestations, “I set an alarm...” (it hadn’t gone off) “my paper was 35 pages and in MLA!” (that wasn’t the issue-as you’d soon find out), “I’m sorry!” you gasped anxiously, staring wide eyed up at him. 

“What did I do wrong?” you asked nervously, hands bunching in the fabric of your cardigan as you hurried down the hall next to him. Your gaze darted between his stoic face and the tiles under your feet, anxiety swirling within you. 

Father Brolin shook his head as he walked, leading you to his office. “We’re not discussing these issues in the hallway, please come in,” he ordered, holding the door to his office open.

You swallowed hard and stepped past him, tears burning in your eyes. You hadn’t ever been in trouble with Father Brolin before, in fact, you had thought you were one of his favorite students.You hated the idea that you might have let Father Brolin down. He had always been so kind and supportive of you, and the look on his face now...

Shame and dread threatened to choke you and as you took a seat across from his desk, your nails dug into the leather of the arms.

Father Brolin strode smoothly around his desk and took his seat, leaning forward to peer intently at you. 

You tried not to fidget as his dark eyes seemed to pierce you, the look in his gaze making you shiver. It wasn’t a look you had seen in a priest’s eyes before, only on the faces of the young men you were in class with.

It was dark and curious and it made you shift as heat curled in your belly. You were startled to see Father Brolin looking at you like this, but maybe you were just imagining it. You had completely missed it when a boy in chemistry had a crush on you, so it was likely you were misreading this situation too.

“I’ve had reports that you’ve been falling asleep in the library during your free periods. You’ve also been participating less in class and your hockey coach says you’ve missed two practices this month. Would you care to tell me what’s happening?” Father Brolin asked, more an order than a question, really, you could tell by his tone of voice and the firm set to his jaw.

“I-I’ve just been busy working on this paper and studying for SAT’s. I needed the time to prepare and told Coach Green I didn’t plan on missing any more practices. I’m sorry about sleeping in the library, it’s just, it’s quiet there and people don’t notice me,” you babbled, nervously twisting your hands together.

Father Brolin stared at you for a long moment and then shook his head, “You don’t go unnoticed Angel,” he murmured softly, eyes gentling for a moment. A small shiver went up your spine at the tone of his voice and the way your name sounded in his deep, musical voice. 

“T-thank you sir,” you stammered, a flush rising on your cheeks. 

He nodded, lifting up what you saw was your English paper. “Now this,” he murmured, and you felt a slip of relief when he smirked faintly. “Did you write this to be deliberately provocative, or do you genuinely believe Theresa was in sexual commune with an angel?” he asked wryly. 

Your eyes widened in shock at his candor and your heart thumped in your chest. Sex was not something you expected to be discussing with Father Brolin. Squirming in your seat a little, you shook your head and explained. 

“No, I finished my thesis by stating I believe she had normal, sexual congress with a human man, and attempted to hide it through religious fervor and imagery. Her description of the acts is explicit and quite obviously about sex,” you replied, flushing a little under the gaze of the handsome priest.

Father Brolin stared at you for long moment before he nodded and smiled faintly, tapping his fingers against the paper. “Well, as much as I agree with you, your teacher does not. He will not accept this paper because of the explicit content,” he told you and your stomach dropped.

“But I-I worked so hard on it, and he said it could be on whatever we wanted,” you whispered, voice weak. Hopelessness filled you. If you failed this paper, you’d bring down your perfect grade point average and never be able to get into college and away from this town.

Father Brolin nodded, “Well, I have a solution. You will take the Incomplete on the paper and come to see me everyday after school for counseling. It’s clear that you are in need of guidance from a firm hand.”

You stared at him numbly, everyday? “What about hockey and debate?” you whispered, giving him a pleading look. You had to go to hockey and debate, you were the team captain for both! If you failed...your stomach dropped unpleasantly at that thought.

His brow furrowed as he thought, lush lips pursing for a moment. “You may still attend. I will let your coaches know you must come see me directly after. If your performance on those teams continues to suffer, we will reassess,” he told you, not unkindly.

You blinked rapidly, pushing back the tears that had welled up, and nodded your agreement. “Okay.”

Father Brolin nodded succinctly and leaned back, “Very good. Now, we’ll start with your punishment for this paper of yours on Saint Theresa,” he told you and you inhaled sharply, surprised. You had thought the incomplete was going to be your punishment.

At your surprised look, Father Brolin smiled wryly, “Oh little one, you have much to learn,” he mused, rising from his chair. He indicated for you to stand and you did so, straightening the hem of your skirt nervously. 

“You know that corporal punishment is still allowed here, so if you would please come here and place your hands on my desk,” Father Brolin instructed, standing off to the side. You hesitated; it might have been allowed, but you didn’t think it was right. Still if you argued, he’d likely refuse to allow you to participate in debate or hockey, and deep down you knew he was right. 

You had been indulging in bad behavior for months now, and the emotional toll it was taking on you was nearly overwhelming. The guilt of lying to your parents about skipping practices, of sleeping through classes, of failing on this paper, it made your stomach twist nastily. If Father Brolin could help you be better, you wanted that. 

You _needed_ it. 

With that swirling in your mind, you nodded nervously and rounded the desk, splaying your hands on the cool wood surface.

“Very good. Now you will receive ten strikes to each side of your bottom. Please lift your skirt.” You craned your neck to look at him incredulously, hesitating only a few moments before you lifted your skirt and tucked it into the band of your underwear.

Your face flushed as your thong was exposed, and you stared determinedly down at the desk, heat in your belly making you shift uncomfortably. There was something about this that was so wrong, so you couldn’t explain why you had the same butterflies you had experienced when Tony DeAngelo had kissed you and put his hand under your bra.

It didn’t make sense.

You could hear Father Brolin shift behind you and felt the heat of his body on your bare legs, a shiver running over you. “You will count them,” he ordered, and you nodded obediently. Your breathing was a little too fast, your head light in anticipation, an ache between your legs you couldn’t explain, and then, from nowhere, **crack**!

You yelped in surprise, hips jumping from the blow and a moment later you felt the heat of the sting on your skin. “O-one,” you stammered, breathing growing more unsteady.Your thoughts were a mess as his hand came down on the other side and you dutifully counted out **two**. His large hand caressed the swells of your cheeks and you breathed unsteadily at the soothing sensation, the conflicting pain and gentility making your belly ache with a need unfamiliar to you. 

Never before had you had a man’s hand on your body so intimately, and it sent a shiver of something hot down your spine. You could feel the callouses on his palms scrape against your skin, the rough sensation making your heart beat a little faster. 

He continued to lay sharp blows on each side and the pressure and heat in your belly and between your legs grew. You whimpered, only vaguely familiar with this ache from the times you had slid a hand between your legs to see what all the fuss was about. 

It had _never_ felt like this, and you didn’t understand why it did now. 

When he had completed five(only a quarter of the number you had total, your traitorous brain reminded you) your hips rolled back and you were rubbing your thighs together between strikes, desperate for friction. You bit back noises of distress as best you could, but more than once he had been forced to stop and tell you to quiet down.

“If you can’t remain still, I’ll put you over my knee,” Father Brolin warned, voice low and velvety, and to your abject horror, a moan slid from your throat at the idea.

There was a long moment of silence in which his large hand caressed the red and heated skin of your ass, the touch making you shiver.

“Very well little one. On my lap,” he ordered. 

You struggled to stand upright, legs trembling and the aching need between your legs was throbbing, leaving you breathless and whimpering softly. Father Brolin sat in his large leather tufted armchair and patted one knee invitingly. 

On unsteady legs you stepped over and bent down slowly, shifting until your knees pressed into his thigh and your head hung over his other leg. You clung to one of his calves, feeling off balance both emotionally and physically. 

Father Brolin inhaled slowly as you wiggled into place on his lap and beneath your stomach you could feel something firm and long, and... _oh_. **OH**. That was his...cock. You swallowed hard as a fresh wave of desire swept through you and you rubbed your thighs together. 

A sharp smack landed on your left ass cheek and you flinched, gasping. “I told you to be still,” Father Brolin murmured, his voice a low growl. 

“I’m sorry Father,” you whispered, “I’ll try harder,” you promised earnestly. You wanted to do better, you wanted to make Father Brolin happy with you, and you wanted to be good. 

“See that you do,” he ordered. “Now, resume counting.”

His hand fell again on your right cheek and you continued counting, the heat in your cunt growing with each blow. By the time he had done ten total, a sheen of sweat had broken out on your back and you were panting and moaning, unable to restrain yourself. 

You could feel Father Brolin’s cock beneath you, and when you shifted against him, he made a low noise and pressed a hand on the nape of your neck, holding you down as his leg moved to trap your yours. “You are clearly unable to follow simple orders,” he growled, “so I will show you how to behave.”

His hand came down again and you cried out, counting only when he reminded you. By fifteen, you were shaking and your cunt was pulsing, your throat dry from your gasping breaths. 

“Please Father Brolin, _please_ ,” you whined, not even sure of what you were asking for, just knowing that you needed something _more_. His large hand smoothed across the hot skin of your ass and you whimpered and canted your hips into the touch, aching to have his hands elsewhere. 

“Hush little one, shh,” he soothed, his hand at your neck caressing the column of your throat. Tilting your head, you sighed happily when he stroked his knuckles over your cheek, his thick thumb brushing against your lower lip. 

“You have to learn control, you are undisciplined and behaving poorly. Don’t you want to be a good girl?” he asked, voice deep and warm like rich dark chocolate. You nodded and whimpered a little--you wanted to be good, you didn’t like feeling anxious and out of sorts all the time.

“Please Father Brolin, I want to be your good girl,” you whispered, and you heard him inhale slowly for a moment before he brushed his thumb over your lip again.

“You will be Angel. We will do this as many times as it takes for the lesson to stick,” he promised and your cunt clenched hungrily at that, the heat of your ass glowing and spreading beneath your skin. You felt a bit like you were floating, the only things really grounding you were his hands on your body and the low melodic sound of his voice.

“Thank you Father Brolin,” you whispered, relief going through you at the thought that he would continue to help you, to make you into a good girl, just like everyone thought you were. He hummed softly and stroked your lip again, his other hand laying on your ass, a promise of more.

Without thinking you opened your mouth and sucked his thumb between your teeth. You heard him inhale sharply and his hand on your ass tightened, nails biting into the hot skin. You moaned and sucked the appendage, grinding your hips down into his thigh and cock, desperate for friction. 

Father Brolin stared down at you incredulously, brain short circuiting for a minute as you sucked his thumb. Your hips ground down into his erection and for a moment he considered letting you climax, but he quickly came to his senses. 

Not this time. 

Ripping his hand from your mouth, he used it to pin your hips down and began spanking you harder than before, faster too. You had no time to count as he laid stripes across your reddened skin, his breath coming in hot gasps against the small of your back. 

“Good girls don’t act like that little one,” he growled, “Good girls, they have control and most of all, they _listen_ ,” he huffed out as his hand slapped against your ass, the sharp crack of skin on skin filling your ears. 

“I’m sorry Father, I’m sorry,” you whined, emotion clogging your throat. You hated that you were letting him down, that you couldn’t just be good like everyone wanted you to. 

With the twentieth spank you shuddered, cunt pulsing and clutching at nothing. Heat flushed your entire body and you shivered, clutching at his leg, gasping and moaning weakly. 

Father Brolin let you lay on him for another few moments before he cleared his throat, “Stand,” he ordered. You gathered your strength and your wits and did as he said, thighs quivering as you stood in front of him. 

He remained seated and you peeked down, gulping when you saw the thick outline of his cock through his black trousers. You quickly averted your gaze and peered down at the floor, the picture of contrition. That cock, it had been pressed against you, and you flushed to think of how you had writhed and moaned on his lap. 

Father Brolin studied you, pulse thrumming in his veins. Your mascara and eyeliner were smudged and your lips were stained red from being bitten. You looked positively debauched, desire slackening your face, a needy look in your eyes. 

“Turn,” he ordered quietly, and when you turned your back to him, he bit back a groan at the sight of your fiery cheeks, his handprints distinct on your thighs. 

If he peered closely, he could see arousal shining on your thighs, the tiny scraps of fabric doing little to stop it or cover your cunt. A thought came to him and he rubbed a hand over his mouth, suppressing a groan. 

“If you can’t wear proper undergarments, you shouldn’t wear any,” he murmured, voice hoarse with lust. You cast a glance over your shoulder, questioning him silently with your eyes. He lifted a brow, “Now.”

Nodding, you tucked your fingers in the band of the fabric and pushed them down, blushing as you bent down to take them off. Your bare cunt was level with Father Brolin’s face and you felt a flush of shame at how distracting this must be for him. You had flouted your contrarian beliefs in the face of your devout teachers, and had worn slutty underwear. Father Brolin was right to punish you, to offer guidance. Just because you were undeniably and inexplicably aroused by this didn’t mean he enjoyed it. You clearly couldn’t control yourself and whatever physical reaction he had, wasn’t about you. 

It was just biology. 

Turning, you handed them to him, untucking your skirt so your bottom was covered once more. Father Brolin closed his fist around the tiny scrap of fabric and nodded, “I will see you back here tomorrow after debate practice. Don’t be late,” he cautioned. 

You nodded, “I won’t.” Halfway to the door, you paused and looked back, “Thank you, Father Brolin, for guiding me,” you murmured. 

He stared at you for a moment and then nodded, “Of course little one. Go on, don’t be late for your AP Statistics now,” he encouraged with a faint smile. 

You nodded and hurried out the door, thighs coated with arousal and ass aching in a way that left you squirming in your seat for hours after. 

Father Brolin waited until the door had shut behind you to open his fist, releasing the heady scent of your arousal. The tiny scrap of fabric that had barely covered your cunt lay in his palm, damp and enticing. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, a pang of desire hitting him hard in the gut as he recalled with perfect clarity the pitch of your cries as his hand slapped against your reddened ass. 

One hand went to his trousers, fumbling with the zipper and reaching in until his cock was free, aching and weeping. Rubbing his thumb over the tip, he spread the milky fluid and closed his eyes, keeping the underwear near his nose. His fist closed tightly around his cock and he imagined it was your cunt, tight and wet and hot. He groaned and his hips canted up, balls already aching for release. 

Recalling your bare cunt as you had bent down to remove the black lace, he inhaled and groaned, pumping harder. He imagined what it would feel like to thrust into your cunt, to see his thick length spreading you open, to hear your musical voice gasping and pleading with him as he fucked you over his desk. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he growled, cock twitching in his hand as he squeezed harder. He took the lace and dragged it over the sensitive head of his cock, choking on a loud moan as his whole body shivered. 

“ _Please_ _Father_ _Brolin_ , _please_ ,” you had begged, so prettily too. “ _Please_ _Father_ _Brolin_ , _I_ _want to be your good girl.”_

He imagined you doing it on your knees, begging for his cock and with that last thought, he groaned your name loudly, hand pumping as his cock erupted onto the scrap of black fabric. 

He opened his eyes to watch as his cum stained the fabric, shuddering and gasping. When his cock had no more to give and the fabric against his skin was sore, not pleasant, he laid it on the smooth surface of his desk and carefully tucked himself back into his trousers. 

Leaning back heavily in his chair, he stared at the white staining the black fabric, gut churning. He knew what was happening here wasn’t right, that he should stop this before it went any further. 

Then he recalled the way you had ground down onto his cock and he imagined making you ride his thigh until you were close, denying you that release, teaching you control. 

Reaching out, he tucked the damp underwear into a handkerchief and then into his pocket before sinking to his knees under the cross hanging on the wall. Christ looked dolefully down upon him and Father Brolin took out his rosary, bowing his head. 

“Almighty Father, forgive me, for I have sinned...”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day started out disastrously. It was raining, cold and windy, your alarm hadn’t gone off so you were late, and when you went out to start your hand me down car for school, it did little more than sputter and groan.

Swearing under your breath and ignoring the scolding you got in return from your little sister, you hurried into the house and called your dad. He worked just a few miles away at his immigration law offices and if he couldn’t take you, you, your sister and brother would have to run for the bus three blocks away.

He answered quickly and after a few moments of explanation, was on his way. By the time your sister and brother had been dropped off at the middle school, you were officially late. Scurrying out of the car, you struggled with your umbrella, slowly getting soaked as you fumbled. You ran into something solid and when you fell back, a large hand grabbed your arm and held you steady.

Looking up in surprise, you found Father Brolin standing over you, concern furrowing his brow. “You’re late little one,” he murmured over the wind and rain.

Nodding, you glanced over your shoulder to where your father was driving away and then looked back up into his warm onyx gaze. “I know Father, I’m sorry. My alarm didn’t go off because the power flickered and then the car wouldn’t start so we had to wait for my father to pick us up and drop us off.”

Father Brolin nodded, his hand sliding up to your shoulder, giving you a gentle nudge towards the school. “I understand Angel, you don’t need to worry, you won’t be receiving a demerit,” he explained kindly.

Sighing in relief, you gave him a bright smile, “Thank you Father Brolin. May I go to class?” you asked politely.

He stared down at you so intently that you fought not to fidgit under his scrutiny. After long moments of silence in which you were sure he was going to deem you unfit for class, he nodded. “Yes Angel, you may go. Do you have a piece of paper? I’ll write you a note,” he offered, gaze flickering over your body once more.

Flushing at the attention, you nodded and hurried to pull out your notebook you used for taking down ideas or lists. As he wrote, his brow furrowed and a thick lock of dark hair flopped forward against his brow, giving him a mussed, deliciously disheveled look that made your stomach flutter.

It was still lying against his brow when he pulled out the page and handed it to you, along with your notebook and pen. “I will see you after debate practice Angel, don’t be late,” he warned, voice firm and commanding. You ached to reach out and push it off his brow, but knew that it would be inappropriate, and likely unwelcome.  

The familiar ache in your cunt throbbed at his tone and the depth of his voice and you nodded eagerly, thighs rubbing together. “Yes Father Brolin,” you murmured demurely, determined to be good, just like he said you could, just like you wanted to be.

He nodded once more and gave you a soft smile, “Off you go then.” Giving him a bright smile, you hurried off to class, shoes squeaking on the tile as you went. 

* * *

The day passed slowly, too slowly it felt to you, and in far too many moments you found yourself distracted by thoughts of yesterday’s encounter with Father Brolin and the way you had been put over his knee and spanked. After you had gotten home last night you had eaten dinner with your family and then locked yourself in your room, under the premise of studying for the SAT’s, when in fact you were doing something far, far more inappropriate.

Settled on your bed, you plugged in your headphones and opened an incognito browsing window, typing in the name of a website you had heard whispered about from the boys in your class. As the page opened, you flushed and quickly typed in your request, a heat building low in your belly.

Soon you were lost in a spiral of videos: young women being spanked and then fingered or fucked, young women being punished by a “priest”, and finally, what shamed you and aroused you the most; a girl who looked not too dissimilar from you being spanked, tied up, and fucked as she moaned and gasped and called the man _daddy_. 

When that video had ended you set aside your laptop and slumped down into the pillows, hand going beneath your shorts to find your tingling clit. You hadn’t wasted any time, rubbing it firmly in circles as you replayed the video in your mind, except this time it was you and Father Brolin. Panting and biting back moans, you had rubbed harder, two fingers sliding into your wet cunt easily to thrust and rub until you found a spot that made your back arch off the mattress and a sharp cry of pleasure choked in your throat.

When you came it was to the image of Father Brolin fucking you over his desk, both hands pinned behind your back as his fingers tangled in your hair and he demanded to know who was his good girl.

 _Me_ _Father_ _Brolin_ , _me_ , you had imagined crying out, your cunt shivering around your fingers.

So, to say you were distracted today by other thoughts...would have been an understatement. Twice your teachers had to reprimand you for your daydreaming and during lunch you barely heard a word your friends said.

During your free period you went to the library as usual, determined to get some studying done and work on homework that had already been assigned today. When you went to your usual spot however, you were dismayed to find it taken by a small group who appeared to be studying together.

Hurrying to one of the smaller study rooms, you sighed in disappointment when you saw it too was taken. Going through the halls, you paused and then headed for the music rooms, grinning happily when you found they were all empty.

Pulling the door to the soundproof room shut, you leaned against the wall beside the piano, the bulk of the instrument hiding your presence from anyone who would look in from the outside. Quickly getting to work, you pulled out your Bio book and began the homework. A knock at the door sometime later startled you and you looked up in surprise to find Tony DeAngelo smiling at you from the other side of the glass.

Grinning back, you waved him into the room, a little flutter of excitement running through you at the sight of his handsome face. “Hey Angel, can I study with you?” he asked quietly, his gaze flickering over your bare knees peeking out from your skirt.

Nodding, you slid along the wall and made room for him. Tony was a tall, muscular boy who you had had a crush on for a few years before he noticed you, and earlier this summer at a friend’s party, you had kissed and fooled around a bit. Now that school had started you were sort of hoping that might continue.

 _But_ _what_ _about_ _Father_ _Brolin_? Your traitorous mind whispered and you fought very hard to ignore it as Tony sat beside you, his hip pressing into yours.

You worked in silence for the most part, exchanging smiles and watching each other from the corner of your eyes before he ever made a move. When his hand landed on your knee, you stared at it for a second and then, in a fit of daring, pushed your books from your lap and turned towards him, fingers tangling in his thick black hair and the front of his shirt as you kissed him.

Tony made a soft noise of surprise and then slid his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. It was a slow, teasing kiss and as he leaned into you and covered your body with his, a thrill went through you. One of his hands slid beneath your skirt and you gasped against his lips, rolling your hips into his touch. His mouth traversed the skin of your throat, teeth gently nipping until you were breathing heavily and moaning quietly.

Your cunt ached and your body throbbed with need; you wanted his hands all over you. “Touch me,” you gasped into his ear, enjoying the low groan you got in return. His fingers slid higher until they were pressing against the damp fabric of your panties, and a groan came from both your lips as he began to rub against your pussy, his fingers inexpert and only occasionally finding your clit.

 _If_ _only_ _this_ _was_ _Father_ _Brolin_ you thought desperately, letting out a whimpering noise as Tony’s fingers just barely rubbed your clit once more. _He would know what to do. He would make me come._

“Miss Rossi! Mr. DeAngelo!”

The sharp voice of authority quickly ended the vigorous make out session, and as you sat up, you were horrified (and a little excited) to see Father Brolin standing in the doorway. His face was thunderous, and as you and Tony gathered your things and followed him to his office, you noticed with a sinking sensation in your stomach that Father Brolin was refusing to look at you.

You waited outside the office as Father Brolin reprimanded Tony and a few minutes later when he emerged, he shot you an apologetic look before scurrying down the hall and out of sight.

“Come in Miss Rossi,” Father Brolin called, voice low and tight and angry. Your stomach slipped further towards your toes and you hurried in, shutting the door behind you.

Moving to take a seat, you paused when Father Brolin shook his head, eyes dark and flashing with unrestrained anger. “No Miss Rossi, kneel,” he ordered, and the forceful tone to his voice made your cunt quiver. 

Setting aside your backpack, you quickly moved to do as he ordered, the rough fabric of the carpet pressing into your skin. Father Brolin watched you from behind his desk, his disappointment obvious.

“So, Miss Rossi, it seems you cannot control yourself. And here I thought you were going to be good,” he mused, shaking his head in disappointment. “I see we’re going to have a long road ahead of us,” he told you, leaning back in his chair.

Guilt and shame filled you, and tears burned in your eyes. _Why_ , **_why_** couldn’t you just be **good**? “I’m sorry Father Brolin,” you whispered, “Tony and I have liked each other for awhile a-and it just happened.”

When you met his gaze it was blazing, the force of his anger an almost physical thing. “It just... _happened_?” he mused, “Miss Rossi, that sort of behavior doesn’t just _happen_. You knew what you were doing with that boy, and I’d ask you not to treat me like I’m ignorant.”

You flushed in embarrassment and shame, shaking your head and tucking your chin to hide your tears. “Yes, Father Brolin,” you whispered.

There was a long moment of silence before he sighed and you dared to look back up. He was studying you intently,brows furrowed as he contemplated your fate. Finally, he rubbed a hand over his jaw and nodded, “Right. Come here,” he ordered, and when you rose to stand, he frowned and shook his head, “No, on your hands and knees.”

Stuttering for a moment, you nodded and went down on your hands and knees, crawling over to him, desperately aware of his gaze on you and how wet your panties were. Embarrassment and arousal fought for control and when you were at his knee, Father Brolin reached down and stroked your hair.

“Good girl. On my lap now,” he ordered, voice still firm, but softer than it had been before. You crawled into his lap, head hanging down towards the floor, and flushed when he flipped up your skirt. “I thought we agreed; wear appropriate underwear or nothing,” he asked, frustration in his voice once more.

You frowned and twisted to peer over your shoulder at him, his dark gaze meeting yours. “I didn’t think they were bad,” you whispered, gut turning when he shook his head and traced a finger along the edge of the lace.

“They aren’t as bad as the last ones, however, I think we need to set up a new plan. When you get dressed in the morning, you will send me a picture of what you plan to wear under your clothes and I will determine if it is appropriate.”

His gaze was steady and firm as you thought this over. If you did as he ordered, it would save you from making mistakes and disappointing Father Brolin. A lightness filled your body at that thought and you nodded eagerly, smiling at him happily. “I will Father, I promise.”

His lips cracked into a faint smile and his hand caressed your ass gently, almost tenderly. “Good girl Angel. I knew you could be my good girl,” he crooned softly. Pleasure rippled through you and you wriggled on his lap a little, earning you a light smack to your ass and a disapproving look. “Stay still Angel,” he ordered, “you’re getting fifteen now and fifteen more after debate for your behavior. We’ll work on your self control as well, understand?”

You nodded and he smiled softly at you, one of his large hands guiding you back down till your nose was nearly touching the ground. “Good girl. Now, hold still and remain quiet unless you are counting,” he commanded.

“Yes Father,” you whispered before sealing your lips shut and clinging to his leg. After the first two, he paused and made a soft, thoughtful noise.

“Angel, you will thank me for each in addition to counting them. You should be grateful for my guidance in making you a good girl.”

Nodding, you tried not to shift eagerly as you awaited the next slap. When it came it was harder than the first two, harder than any had been previously, and you almost cried out. Instead you took a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you Father Brolin. Three.”

You heard his hum of approval and then he was continuing. His hand was hard on your ass and you fought each time not to moan or cry out, even as your thighs quivered and your cunt ached. You could feel your underwear getting wetter with each blow and your mind slowly dropped into a haze.

By the time he finished with the first fifteen you’d be getting today, your ass was on fire and your cunt was so aroused it hurt. Whimpering softly, you pressed your face against his leg, wishing you were better behaved, that you didn’t react like this.

“You did good Angel. I’m pleased,” Father Brolin murmured, and the warmth in his voice made you preen. “Get up now little one,” he ordered, one hand at the back of your neck to help you up as you whined softly at the burn in your ass.

When you stood upright before him, Father Brolin steepled his fingers together and peered at you. Dropping your gaze, you inhaled unsteadily when you saw that once again, he had an erection. Desire burned hotter within you and you rubbed your thighs together, aching for release.

“Did that boy touch your cunt?” Father Brolin asked suddenly and you gasped, looking up at him in surprise. When you didn’t answer, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Well?”

“N-no Father. Not exactly,” you demurred.

His face turned dark and he glared at you, “What does that mean?” he demanded, “He either touched your cunt or he didn’t!”

Breathing raggedly, you shook your head desperately, “He-he touched it over my underwear,” you admitted and bit your lip, waiting for Father Brolin’s reaction.

“Why would you want an inexperienced boy like that to touch you?” he asked, and then his face changed yet again, this time a dark curiousity filling it. “Have _you_ touched your cunt?” he probed.

Flushing, you looked away and nodded, unable to meet his eye. “Look at me little one,” he ordered and you lifted your gaze to meet his, shivering at the intensity there. “Have you made yourself come?” You nodded again and he smirked faintly, “You see my little one, you have no patience. You need to learn to deny yourself that release until you are ready,” he counseled.

Confusion swept through you. How could anyone stop from rushing towards that ecstatic release? “I-I don’t know how to do that,” you admitted quietly, gaze darting up to meet his.

Father Brolin smiled and it sent a shiver over your spine at how predatory and dark it was, so full of promise it made your blood burn.

“Oh my sweet Angel, don’t worry, I will teach you.”

Relief and confusion fought for dominance until you relaxed at the idea that once again, Father Brolin would help you be a good girl, to have control. Nodding, you smiled faintly at him and waited for him to dismiss you.

Father Brolin stared at you for a long moment before he shook his head and smiled. “You had best get to class little one. I don’t want to have to punish you for being late,” he cautioned.

You nodded eagerly and gathered your things, turning back at the door to shoot him one last smile.

“Thank you Father Brolin, for everything,” you whispered, flushing when he smiled and waved you off with a soft, “You’re welcome Angel.”

Father Brolin watched you leave, a wash of emotions running through him. He knew the game he was playing with you was dangerous, but every time he thought he should end it and leave you alone, he would recall the way you moaned and begged, your promises that you would be his good girl, and then he would pull out your cum stained thong and inhale the lingering scent of your arousal and every thought he had of giving you up disappeared. 

His plans for this afternoon made an almost cruel smile come to his lips and with a sigh, he rose and went to the window to watch the rain, contemplating every way he would mold you and train you into his perfect girl.  

 

* * *

Your ass ached and throbbed, your cunt pulsed needily every time you shifted in your chair, trying to get comfortable, and all through debate practice you were distracted by thoughts of Father Brolin. 

As the clock ticked down you eyed it impatiently, barely paying attention to your teammates. When practice broke up you distractedly waved goodbye to your friends and hurried down the halls to Father Brolin’s office, anticipation making your heart beat faster and your cunt grow even wetter.

When you entered Father Brolin’s office he was sitting at his desk, reading a book, his feet propped up. His gaze lifted from the page and he peered at you over the top of his reading glasses, a faint smirk coming to his mouth as he lifted a coffee cup to his lips and sipped.

 

“You’re on time,” he murmured, sounding pleased. Pleasure at his reaction filled you and you flushed, nodding as you approached his desk. He held up a finger from his cup and you paused, waiting for him to tell you what to do. “Kneel,” he ordered, smiling happily when you knelt and waited for further instruction. 

Dropping his feet off the desk, he waved a hand, “Come here Angel,” he encouraged, watching as you crawled over, a pleased look on his face. When you were kneeling by his left knee he reached down and ran his fingers through your hair gently, drawing your chin up so he could peer down at you. “Good girl,” he crooned, “on my lap now,” he ordered gently. 

You listened and moved without hesitation into his lap. When he stroked his hand up your thigh and onto your ass, you sighed in delight, eyes falling closed as pleasure suffused you. 

Here, with Father Brolin, you knew what to expect. You knew the pain and the pleasure would come together, and he would only give you as much as you deserved, as much as you _needed_. Somehow, he always knew what you needed, even when you didn’t. 

“You’ll count them and say thank you,” he ordered. You nodded eagerly and wiggled your hips a little, earning you a smack on the thigh and an order to be still. You settled and as he began spanking you, heat suffused your veins, your mind growing blank and syrupy. 

This, this punishment was well deserved, and the knowledge that Father Brolin could make you better, could make you a good girl, it gave you hope and suffused you with a sense of peace. 

No matter what he decided, no matter how severe the punishment, you knew it was what you needed. 

What you needed to be a _good_ _girl_. 

When he had given you fifteen spanks, your ass was on fire and you thought maybe it would bruise in places, but satisfaction filled you knowing that you had taken them without complaint or (much) wriggling and moaning. Father Brolin ran his hand over your ass, humming softly. “Good girl. You did good my Angel,” he murmured. 

Smiling at his praise, you stayed laying down for a few moments before Father Brolin reached down and guided you upright, pulling you into his lap so your legs were slung across his knee. His hand lay on your thigh, gently caressing the soft skin beneath your skirt and you hummed in pleasure, eyes drifting half shut.

When his other hand cupped your cheek and his thumb stroked over your jawbone, you opened your eyes and smiled faintly at him. “Do you know how to pray the rosary little Angel?” he asked, and you nodded, giving him a wry smirk. You had learned the rosary at a young age and by now had it memorized.

“Good,” he mused, hands shifting to pull your hips around so you were straddling his thigh, your hands falling on his shoulder to steady yourself. “Now, I want you to pray the rosary. We are going to work on your concentration and control,” he told you solemnly, eyes dark and pupils wide. “You will use my leg to arouse yourself and when you are close to coming, you will stop and wait ten seconds before starting again,” he ordered.

Your wide eyed expression must have been amusing because he laughed softly and ran his hand up your shirt covered spine, shaking his head in amusement. “You want to be a good girl who can control herself and do as you’re told, don’t you?” he asked, sounding as though he would be disappointed if you said _no_.

Nodding, you swallowed hard and began the prayers of the rosary, awkwardly rolling your hips so your cunt ground down on Father Brolin’ thigh. It didn’t feel like much, not at first, but as you wiggled and circled your hips, you soon were gasping in surprise at the aching tingle in your cunt from how your clit was being pressed against the hard muscle of his thigh.

By the time you had started the Our Father(admittedly not that long had passed since you started the whole rosary) you were biting back moans and struggling to speak evenly.

“Our Father...who...art...ahhh!” you moaned loudly as your clit spasmed and twitched, the ache within you growing with each roll of your hips. Your nails dug into Father Brolin’s chest and he made a quiet noise, urging you to continue when you paused for too long.

“Who art...in heaven...hallowed be...”

You could feel your panties getting wetter as your cunt spasmed and ached, your ass throbbing distantly in the background as you rolled your hips harder. “Hallowed be...ha-hallowed be...”

Fire rose in your belly and you arched against Father Brolin, ready to let it consume you when you remembered his orders. With a high whine, you stopped rolling your hips and gasped unevenly as your cunt twitched and clutched around nothing, aching to have something deep inside it to cling to.

Father Brolin ran a hand over your spine and hummed softly, “Good girl. Take a deep breath and continue my Angel,” he ordered, voice firm but kind.

Nodding, you took a few deep breaths and then began rolling your hips again, a whimper coming from your throat immediately when you did. You had no idea how you were going to make it through the whole rosary without coming; you wanted that release so badly, but more than that, you wanted to prove to Father Brolin that you could be good, obedient and in control.

So, you rolled your hips a little slower and took frequent breaks as your orgasm came closer and closer, your voice growing hoarse as you murmured the prayers of the rosary, words interspersed with gasps and moans.

By the time you made it to the final prayer your underwear were thoroughly soaked, you were barely able to speak, and you had to stop every three words. Father Brolin peered at you, a heated, curious expression on his face as he watched you ride his thigh.

“T-through...the...same...Christ,” you gasped as Father Brolin tensed and arched his leg, pressing back into your cunt as you ground down and a high whine emanated from you as your cunt throbbed and your clit ached almost painfully. Your hips twitched, your release so close it made you sob, tears welling in your eyes as you fought and sat still, taking large gasping breaths.

“Keep going little one, you’re almost done,” Father Brolin encouraged, voice low and demanding. 

Nodding weakly, you breathed unsteadily and continued. “Our Lord...” Father Brolin’s dark gaze held yours and he nodded, silently nudging you into finishing the prayer. “ ** _Amen_** ,” you gasped in a strangled voice.

“Very good Angel,” Father Brolin murmured, his large hand rubbing comfortingly into your back as you collapsed forward, face burying in his shoulder, your entire body trembling as you whined and gasped for air. “You did so well little one, so well,” he soothed, voice low in your ear.

Despite how sensitive and aroused you were, nearly desperate to come, you still flushed with pride at his praise. You hadn’t thought you’d be able to do it, but you did. 

Just for him. 

Gently, Father Brolin eased you off his shoulder and peered at you intently as his large hand cupped your cheek, wiping away the few tears you had shed from overstimulation and unfulfilled need. 

“Now my Angel, you will go home and you will not touch yourself. You will not come. You will not do anything unless I say so,” he ordered firmly, and you nodded, only whimpering a little. 

The firm set to his jaw softened and he smiled faintly, caressing your cheek as he gazed at you. “You’re doing well little one. Now, let’s get you up and off home, your family is surely missing you,” he murmured, smiling softly at you. 

Nodding, you stood slowly, thighs still trembling, and when you looked down to straighten your skirt, you were horrified to see a wet spot on Father Brolin’s slacks from where your arousal had leaked out of your underwear. His gaze fell on it and lingered for a moment before his lips twitched and he inhaled slowly, looking like he was struggling for control. 

“I’m sorry Father Brolin, I-I didn’t mean, I’ll...” you trailed off as he shook his head and laid his hand on your thigh, gazing up at you with dark chocolate eyes. 

“You did as I asked little one, worry not. Tomorrow we will repeat this lesson and if you are good, you may get a reward,” he told you softly, gaze flickering over you as he spoke. 

Relief shot through you and with a heavy exhalation and a bright smile, you nodded, “I’ll be good, I promise Father Brolin. I’ll be your good girl,” you swore, heart thumping rapidly at he smiled happily up at you. 

“Very good Angel. Do not forget to send me what you choose to wear beneath your uniform,” he cautioned as he rose and led you towards the door. “I don’t wish to punish you, but if you choose something inappropriate, I’ll have no choice,” he told you firmly. 

Nodding solemnly, you made a mental note to go through your drawers tonight and remove anything inappropriate from your dresser. Father Brolin smiled softly down at you and with a hand at the small of your back, guided you out his door. “Goodnight Angel,” he murmured, smiling when you returned the sentiment and scurried off towards the school entrance where your mother was waiting, car idling in the rain. 

Father Brolin watched you leave his office, skirt swinging around your thighs, the scent of your arousal lingering in the air. The way you had stared into his eyes as you rode his thigh and moaned, quietly whispering his name as you approached your release for the fourth or fifth time, eyes begging for release, had been positively _stunning_. 

Turning away, he went back to his desk and sank into his large leather armchair, staring at the shiny surface. He had been amazed when you had completed the task he had set; he hadn’t thought you had the control necessary, but it seemed that you were more determined to prove yourself as his good girl than you were desiring of a release. 

The implications of that were not lost on Father Brolin, and as he contemplated how he could reward you, a wickedly lascivious grin spread on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOLY FUCK Y’ALL...this was some next level shit. I mean, wow. I hope you all survived that, because we haven’t even gotten started on the real smut yet. Song for this part is “Holy” by Zolita.


	3. Chapter 3

Father Brolin had risen early on this rainy Friday, his mind too busy with thoughts of Angel to remain in his modest twin bed much longer. Determined to find some inner peace after praying for an hour, he rose and changed into his running gear, plopping a ball cap on before he slipped from the rectory and out into the rain.

His feet pounded into the pavement, muddy water splashing against his skin as he cut through the school soccer field. 

He had texted you the night before after obtaining your number from the school records, reminding you of your obligation to let him choose your undergarments.

Even as he ran, he flushed with desire at the thought of seeing the tiny scraps of fabric that would cover your body. He had already laid his hands on your lush ass, skimmed over your curvy hips, and danced along the delicate knobs of your spine...but still he wanted more.

It wasn’t lost on him, the irony of him teaching you patience and control when he was struggling every night since this had started not to stroke his cock until his body had nothing left to give. His long, thick fingers had grown skilled at teasing out his release, delaying and prolonging it until fire burned in his belly and he was shivering with overstimulation.

Shaking his head with a soft growl, he tried again to push these thoughts away, to get lost in the rhythmic breathing and slap of rubber on pavement, but time and again he remembered the way your arousal had stained his pants, and how you had breathily gasped his name as you rode his thigh.

Cursing, he stumbled to a walk and ran a hand through his hair, pulling off the cap and turning his face up to the sky, hoping the icy November rain would cool his ardor. The sound of feet on the ground roused him from his thoughts and he turned, surprise and pleasure rippling through him when he found you, his Angel, running towards him.

You wore a determined look and had your eyes cast low, earbuds in blasting music; your pace steady. He decided that you must have seen him in the corner of your eye, because at the last moment you looked up and saw him. Surprise flashed across your face and you stumbled a little, nearly bowling him over had it not been for his strong arms and firm core muscles holding you both up.

Breathlessly you stared up into his dark eyes, unaware you were still clinging to his firm shoulders. Father Brolin stared down at you intently, a shiver running over his skin when the heat of your body pressed into his. Suddenly he looked up, glancing around at the stretch of sidewalk you were standing on and the cars driving past, the morning commute starting already.

With a twist to his lips, he stepped back, keeping a hand on your arm to steady you. Immediately you felt the icy chill return in the gap between your bodies and you bit back a whimper of loss. “Father Brolin,” you greeted, smiling through trembling lips. “I didn’t know you ran,” you told him, eyes flickering over his well, _extremely_ fitted black shirt.

Father Brolin watched your gaze rove and noted the way you licked your lips for a moment. “I find running helps clear my mind,” he replied, “often prayer is not enough.”

Looking up at him in surprise, you tilted your head in curiosity, “What were you praying about?”

Hesitating for a moment, Father Brolin weighed the consequences of telling you the truth. After a moment of weighty silence, he decided it was best if he didn’t tell you the whole truth—at least not yet.

“I was concerned you might fall prey to temptation with the Homecoming dance this weekend,” he told you. “Have you made plans to go with anyone?” he asked, trying to tell himself it wasn’t jealousy motivating him to find out.

Shaking your head hesitantly, “Tony and I had talked about it, but I think after...” you trailed off, wrinkling your brow as you recalled the events of yesterday.

“Hmm, well, if you wish to go with him, Isee no problem—as long as your parents are aware,” he told you, watching as the decision played out on your face. After a moment you shook your head, biting your bottom lip in a way that made him want to tug it free and replace it with his cock.

“I think I’d rather study for the SAT’s,” you murmured hesitantly. “I’m close to a perfect score in my practice tests,” you revealed, smiling faintly.

“Angel, I’m so proud of you,” Father Brolin murmured, the look in his eyes making you flush and duck your chin. When his fingers curled around them and pulled your chin back up you met his gaze steadily. He smiled and stroked his thumb over your bottom lip, the action turning the situation entirely on its head. “You are sweet little one, to worry so deeply about your grades. But you should have fun too, occasionally.”

“Okay,” you breathed, staring wide eyed up at him. A shudder of cold wind whipped past and you both shivered, hunching into the wind. Father Brolin glanced around and realized you were closer to the rectory than your home and in a split second, slid his hand down your arm to take your hand.

“Come Angel, I can’t have you catching your death,” he murmured, towing you along for a moment before another gust of wind blew into you and he slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his warm body.

You hurried back to the rectory and slid into the seat of his beat up Nissan, holding your hands out to the vents as hot air began pumping out. Shivering ceaselessly, you curled your body forward, trying to stay warm.

By the time you were in your driveway, your lips had lost some of their blue tinge, but you still shivered every few moments. Father Brolin looked you over, concern in his eyes, frowning. “Go get a hot shower little one.” His hand lifted to push your hair back from your face and without thinking, you leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut in satisfaction.

Father Brolin watched you nuzzle into his hand, gut twisting at the look of affection and desire on your face. He wanted to pull you into his lap and kiss you senseless, wanted to taste the skin of your neck, wanted to feel your cunt shiver and cling to his fingers and mouth and cock... _wanted wanted wanted._

Regretfully, he pulled his hand away and smiled when you opened your eyes. “Go my Angel, you don’t want to be late for school,” he admonished gently, the warning obvious.

Nodding, you hesitated a moment before leaning across the car and hastily planting a kiss on his cheek. Before he could react, you were out of the car, a puddle of wet on the seat the only sign you had been there.

* * *

 

By the time fourth period rolled around, you were sniffling, sneezing, and had a sore throat. You were trying to study for Chemistry, but found your head ached so badly you couldn’t concentrate.

By the end of the day you were exhausted, and secretly hoping your time worth Father Brolin wouldn’t last too long. Pulling on your coat, you shuffled down the hallways to his office, knocking listlessly. At his low order to enter, you came in and shut the door.

Standing in front of his desk, you hesitated a moment before dropping your backpack and coat(regretfully—it was so much warmer with it on) onto the chair. As you lowered yourself to your knees, your head swam and you swayed dangerously, catching yourself on the edge of his desk before you pitched into the sharp corner.

Distantly you heard Father Brolin moving and a moment later his strong arms were around you, lifting you into his arms. Eyes fluttering open, you dazedly noticed the concern on his face as he turned and sat on the couch, cradling you close.

“Little one, what’s wrong?” he demanded, making a faint noise of displeasure when he put a hand to your forehead and felt how you were burning up. “Oh Angel,” he crooned, shaking his head, “you need to rest. We will resume next week when you are better,” he murmured.

As good as that sounded to you, being in his lap with his muscular arms(seriously what kind of priest had biceps like this you thought hazily) was much better. Making a soft noise of discontent, you pulled your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder.

Father Brolin stiffened for a moment at the intimacy of the action(which was frankly ridiculous, he knew, given how you had been riding his thigh just yesterday)before relaxing and pulling you a littler closer. When a shiver ran over your skin he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over you.

“Ten minutes little one, then I’m driving you home,” he murmured in your ear, smiling when you only hummed and tightened your grip. His hand began to rub gently on your back, soothing circles lulling you into a doze. A smile crept across his lips as he pulled back and watched your face, your slightly raspy breaths worrying him.

When ten minutes and come and passed, he lifted you and then paused to grab your backpack and coat, his keys jangling in his pocket. With sure steps he carried you to his car, grateful that his spot was under a small overhang—the last thing he wanted was to see your cold worsen because of him.

When he had gently eased you into the passenger seat, he hurried around and pulled away from the school, driving carefully in the rain that had turned to sleet. When the wheels met your driveway, he put the car into park and gently roused you, smiling when you looked at him dazedly.

“Go have a hot meal and sleep,” he urged. “If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know,” he murmured, distantly aware of the urgent and worried tone of his voice. When you only frowned, he leaned in and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, “What’s wrong little one?”

Shaking your head, you bit your lip and looked up at him through teary eyes. The heartbroken expression made something pang in Father Brolin’s chest and he resisted the urge to pull you into his lap.

“I just...” you hesitated and sniffled, not daring to meet his eyes as your words came out in a whispered rush. “I just wish you could take care of me.”

At this whispered confession something deep in Father Brolin’s chest ached and he made a soft noise of displeasure, unable to stop himself from cupping your cheek and lifting your chin so he could see your eyes. When he saw the tears rolling down your tired face, he cast a glance to the windows of your house and decided it was dark enough with the sleet and grey sky that he could pull you into his lap without anyone seeing.

You let out a gasp of surprise as he pulled you over the consol and into his lap, your legs dangling into your seat as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. Burying your face in his chest, you whimpered and bunched your eyes shut at the pain in your head. You just wanted to stay in his arms, was that too much to ask?

“Okay my Angel, it’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, rubbing a hand over your back. His lips pressed to your hair and you could feel the way his heart beat steadily against your chest. As your tears slowed you huffed out softly, exhaustion weighing your body down. “Angel, if you need me for any reason, just call me,” Father Brolin urged and after a moment, you nodded.

Turning your face up, you smiled tiredly and whispered a hoarse _thank_ _you_. His hands guided you out of his lap and back into your seat, gaze steady as you slipped out of his car and into the evening gloom.

Worry nagged him the whole ride home, an ache in stomach at the way you had been so tired and sick and needy. He should be taking care of you, he _wanted_ to be the one to take care of you and the injustice of it frustrated him.

Sighing as he sank down behind his desk once more, he looked up at the clock and decided some paperwork would be just the thing to pass the evening. Pouring a tumbler of whiskey, he bent his dark head to the work and tried to put thoughts of you, sick and unhappy, out of his mind. 

* * *

 

The house was quiet and empty. Your parents had left fifteen minutes after Father Brolin dropped you off; you had completely forgotten that they were planning on visiting your grandparents.

Normally you would have gone with, but your grandfather was recovering from bowel cancer and his immune system was compromised. With your cold raging, you had insisted on staying home, a secret part of you happy that you would be alone and for once, not the point of interest for your family.

You were laying on the couch, entirely miserable, hungry, but too tired to get up and warm up the lasagna your mom had left for you. Fingers curled around your phone, you stared at the name on the screen, debating whether to call or not.

When a coughing fit left you exhausted and lightheaded, you tapped the call button and listened to the line ring. After five rings, it connected.

“Angel? What’s wrong?”

You sighed in relief; his low, melodic voice was what you had needed, and when you heard the concern radiating over the line, tears sprang to your eyes.

“I-I’m alone,” you whispered, voice wavering from coughing. “My parents are gone the whole weekend. Will you come?” you asked pleadingly, stomach burning with anxiety as the line remained quiet.

When he still didn’t respond, a soft sob warbled in your throat and the tears spilled down your cheeks. “N-never mind, I’m so-sorry I w-wasted your time,” you whispered brokenly, half choking on tears.

A quiet curse came down the line and then he was sighing, “No sweetheart, shh.” As you continued to cry he spoke. “I’ll be over as soon as I can my Angel. Please stop crying,” he begged, voice raw with sorrow.

Nodding, you wiped at the tears on your cheeks and sniffles unhappily. “Promise you’re coming?”

Another sigh.

“Yes little one, I promise,” he assured you.

Relief spread through your chest and you exhaled sharply, eliciting a deep barking cough. You could hear the frown in his voice when he spoke, “That doesn’t sound good. Rest until I get there,” he ordered.

Nodding again, you snuggled down into the pillows and pulled the blanket around you tighter. Whispering a goodbye, you clutched your phone close and closed your eyes; a smile curled your lips—Father Brolin was going to take care of you. 

* * *

 

Loud repetitive knocking at the door roused you from the light sleep you had slipped into and when you struggled to your feet, blanket wrapped securely around you, you could see Father Brolin through the glass.

Shuffling a little faster, you opened the door and smiled up at him, surprise filling you when you saw his arms filled with grocery bags. He stepped past you and hurried into the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as you meandered into the room.

His smile was faint, the line between his brows making his concern obvious. “You need to take a hot bath and get some Vick’s on; you’ll feel better,” he assured you.

Peering at the things he was placing on the counter, you lifted a brow; it was all the fixings for chicken noodle soup. “Angel, did you hear me?”

You glanced up at him, nodding after just a moment. You recognized that tone; it was one not to be disobeyed or ignored. “Yea of course, sorry,” you murmured raspily. “I’ll go do that,” you told him, backing away as he nodded and turned his attention back to the stove.

With the bathroom door firmly shut between you, you took a moment to breathe steadily, a smile curling your lips and excitement filling your belly as you realized that you were all alone with Father Brolin. There was no one who could invade on this time you had together, and the idea that maybe you could finally show him how you felt made something in your belly burn.

You lingered in the bathtub until the water began to cool and your skin was pruning. When you were warm and dry, you tied your robe around your naked body and grabbed the jar of Vicks before taking an unsteady breath and headed out to find Father Brolin.

The savory, delicious scent of soup and the sultry, flowing sound of jazz lingered in the air together and as you stepped into the kitchen, you were amazed to see Father Brolin stirring a large pot, humming along to the music.

His head came up and his eyes met yours for a moment before they were skimming down, taking in the vee of your robe, the swell of your breasts against the fabric, and the long, lean legs left exposed by the short hem.

Smiling faintly, you held out the Vicks jar, pulse thrumming with nervous excitement. “Will you get my back?” you asked softly, innocently. Father Brolin’s eyes seemed to grow darker for a moment before he was nodding and taking the jar from you. Turning your back to him, you loosened the belt of the robe, letting the material sink down until the only thing preserving your modesty was your hands clasping the fabric over your breasts.

You could feel him, hot and large behind you, and when his breath hit your skin, a shiver ran over your body. The first touch of his hand on your back was chilled by the medicine, but as he rubbed it in, the menthol burned to life. It was like he was spreading fire under your skin, and the ache it left within you made your thighs press together and the tips of your nipples hardened.

Father Brolin continued rubbing the pasty substance into your skin, his breathing slow and controlled. He could see the hard points of your breasts pressing against the thin fabric of your robe and felt when you shivered under his touch. When he had finished, you turned and lifted your gaze to his, eyes wide and encouraging as you arched your chest slightly in invitation.

He knew better. He knew he shouldn’t.

He did.

His hand pressed into your clavicle, spreading more of the medicine into your skin. As the burn grew, a whimper slid from your throat, the desire in your eyes catching his attention and holding it for a long moment. His hand slid up to cup your throat, the slight pressure he applied making your legs tremble and your cunt pulse with need.

His fingers released your throat and slid down your chest bone until they were brushing against the fabric of your robe, so close to where you wanted them to be, but not quite. Your gazes were still fixed on each other and when his fingers left your skin, you gave him a pleading look and leaned in, trying to chase them back to your body.

Father Brolin took a deep, unsteady breath and stepped back, smiling faintly. “Go put something warm on little one, you don’t want to get a chill,” he admonished. Despite your disappointment, you hurried to do what he said, not wanting to get in trouble for disobeying.

When you returned in a pair of yoga pants and a sweater, you found Father Brolin waiting at the counter with two bowls of soup. When he began carrying them towards the table, you made a soft noise, fingers curling in the hems of your sleeves.

“Can we eat on the couch?”

He stared at you for a moment and then nodded in agreement, changing direction smoothly. You followed along and waited till he had seated himself before immediately snuggling up against him, not meeting his eyes when he looked at you in surprise. Grabbing your bowl of soup, you leaned your body into his and hid a smile with a bite of soup when he sighed and lifted his arm so you could move even closer. 

Between bites you grabbed the remote and flicked on Netflix, scrolling through until you landed on Black Mirror, glancing up at Father Brolin for a moment before turning it on and leaning into his side once more. He sighed softly and when you glanced up at him nervously, he smiled faintly, thumb stroking over your shoulder gently. His thumb ran circles around the knob of your shoulder, the rough pad of it sending shivers over your body.

The episode was a good one; Victoria wandered through a town, trying to figure out who she was and why she was being hunted. Despite having seen it before, you still watched with rapt attention, draining your bowl before you even realized how hungry you had been. 

When Father Brolin nudged you aside so he could take the dirty dishes to the kitchen, you paused the show, eagerly for his return. He sat down beside you with a soft smile, his muscular arm winding around your shoulders to pull you into his side. 

With a content sigh, you watched through sleepy eyes as the show continued. Your body grew heavier, loose with exhaustion and warmed by the blanket and Father Brolin’s arm draped over you. Nuzzling into his throat, you sighed happily when his arm tightened around you. Fingers curling into the collar of his sweater, your knuckles brushed against his collarbones, sending a shiver over his skin.

When you had finally fallen asleep, Father Brolin stared down at you, a warmth filling his chest till he felt like he would burst apart at the seams from it. He couldn’t fathom that your parents had left you here in this condition. You were clearly too sick to take care of yourself, and had you not been coming to see him after school everyday, he wouldn’t have ever known how ill you were. 

The thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly; that he could have failed at taking care of you, that you would have been alone, sick, suffering. Deeply unhappy with this thought, he began running his fingers more firmly over your shoulder and spine, determined to keep you close while he could. 

Your breathing was ragged, a slight whistling noise coming from your nose, and the light flush on your cheeks as you nuzzled into him further made his head ache with concern. Gently he shifted and guided your head onto his thigh, covering you more completely with the blanket as the next episode of Black Mirror started. 

His hand brushed the hair from your face, pausing on your forehead for a moment before his thick fingers began furrowing through your hair and scraping against your skull gently. A low purring, humming noise of contentment left your throat and when he repeated the action, you pressed your face further into his thigh. 

Despite everything he knew was wrong with this, Father Brolin made no attempt to leave; instead, he continued to gently stroke his thumb across your shoulder where the sweater had slipped down, his own eyes growing heavier by the moment. He had decided long ago that he wouldn’t leave you alone, that he _couldn’t_ leave you. 

The heat of your skin sank into his fingers, and as he started to drift they squeezed, holding you tighter.Shaking his head sleepily, he cursed himself for being a damned fool. He was a fool for rushing into this with you, for desiring what he knew he shouldn't, for staying tonight and for planning on never leaving. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know there’s no smutty action, but I wanted something a little heartfelt before we moved on. These two are in so much trouble, they don’t even know it lol Hope you enjoyed, the next part will be out as soon as I get it written lol


	4. Chapter 4

You weren’t sure what time it was when you were jostled awake by Father Brolin lifting you from the couch, but when he carried you into your room and tucked you under the covers you gave him a sleepy smile and reached out to lace your fingers with his. “Will you stay with me?” 

Your voice was throaty from sleep, low and a little raspy and it sent a shiver over Father Brolin. His eyes were searching as they stared down at you, luminous in the moonlight and when you grew impatient you gave his hand a tug, yawning hugely.

“C’mon,” you slurred, half asleep and drowsy from the cold medicine. Father Brolin had been weighing the decision, trying to decide if this would damn him even more, wondering if he even cared anymore. When you looked up at him with sleepy plaintive eyes, his decision was made.

“Move over,” he whispered, watching as you smiled happily before releasing his hand and rolling over. Your bed was a double, but with his nearly six foot muscular frame, it felt much smaller. He held himself back, uneasy about pressing so close to you when you were sick, but then you wriggled back, and he was hip to hip, chest to back and skin to skin and it made his breath come out in a ragged gasp.

Unbidden, his hand wrapped around your waist, the instinct to hold you even closer something he couldn’t fight. His fingers slid beneath your sweater to splay against your belly and a soft, contented noise mewled from you. His cock gave a twitch of interest at that; he remembered what you sounded like riding his thigh and damn if he didn’t want to hear it again.

But not now.

Now he would rub his thumb over your stomach until you fell asleep.

Sleep for both of you came like falling; slow, and then all at once. 

* * *

When you woke up again it was half past ten and the bed was empty on the other side. Disappointment swelled within you and for a minute, you struggled against the thickness in your throat that wasn’t from the cold but from pushing back tears.

You couldn’t believe Father Brolin had left you.

Swiping angrily at your eyes as they burned and welled, you threw back the covers and stomped out to the living room, stopping abruptly when you saw Father Brolin at the stove, cooking breakfast from the looks of it. He was in jeans and a tightly fitted sweater and his hair was damp, leaving you wondering when he had left and showered. You must really have been out of it if you didn’t notice him leaving.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled slowly at you and that wiggling thing in your body sprang to life. Curling your toes under and crossing an arm over your body to wrap your fingers around the crook of your arm, you smiled back sheepishly. “You slept so long I thought you might have fallen under an evil witches’ spell,” he joked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Laughing, you shook your head, “No spell, just NyQuil,” you told him, bare feet padding against the wood floor as you made your way over to the bar to sit in a stool and watch him. “Though, if it was a spell, a kiss would have broken it,” you told him thoughtfully, a little node of excitement lodging in your belly as you imagined it.

Father Brolin made a soft hitching noise and then nodded slowly, “Suppose so.” He was quiet for a moment before he was glancing back at you, a wry grin on his face. “Should I call you princess then?” he asked jokingly.

 _Fuck_ …yes, you loved that. Blushing, you shrugged and glanced away, too nervous to meet his eyes. 

“Only if you kiss me,” you told him, throat so tight around the words it made them come out scratchy and faint. When you looked back up he was staring at you, mind obviously working the request through. After a moment he shook his head faintly and turned back around. The kitchen was silent as he cooked and your stomach worked itself into knots, worrying that you had upset him.

When he turned off the stove and turned around, you were amazed to see a plate heaped with huevos rancheros, your favorite breakfast. At your mystified expression he smiled softly and slid the plate in front of you, carrying his cup of coffee to the seat beside you. 

“How’d you know this is my favorite breakfast?” you asked curiously before taking a heaping bite and moaning in delight, eyes falling shut in ecstasy. Father Brolin shifted in his chair, watching your face as you chewed and swallowed rapturously. The noise you had made…it made his cock twitch with interest—inappropriate timing be damned.

“Instagram,” he murmured in reply before taking a sip, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug.

“Instagram,” you repeated, shaking your head in confusion. “You have a flip phone, how—”

“I bought a smart phone,” he interrupted, pulling it from his pocket to place it on the counter between you.

You stared at in confusion, chewing another bite. “Why?” you mumbled around your bite, earning you a reproachful look that made you hastily swallow and ask again, “Why?”

Father Brolin appeared to think about it for a moment before saying very carefully, “So I can take care of you.” Choking on the bite you had just taken, you swallowed painfully and stared at him, wide eyed. This was the most explicit he had ever been about this thing between you being more than just a teaching experience. This, this meant that…

He _cared_ about you.

Struggling under the weight of your excitement, you nodded slowly, hoping you still looked composed. Nothing else was said as you turned back and continued eating and somehow, the silence you lapsed into with him was more comfortable than it had any right to be. 

Coming back around the island from putting your plate in the sink, you hesitated a moment and then barreled forward, wrapping your arms around Father Brolin’s waist and buried your face in his chest. You felt him hesitate for a breath and then his large hands were on you, wrapping around you and holding you close.

His fingers trailed over your curls while the other slipped beneath your sweater to press against the small of your back. Shivers ran over your body at the sensation of his rough palm against your skin. You stayed that way for a while, his hand rubbing up and down your back, yours fisted in the fabric of his shirt. 

You wanted to put your hands beneath it and dig your nails into his skin, but that felt dangerous; it was playing with fire and as much as you wanted him to burn for you like you did for him, you were too frightened of making him upset enough to leave.

So you just held on until he sighed softly, regretfully. “I’m sorry Angel, but I have to go to the hospital and prison today and give last rights and hear confessions. I won’t be back until this evening,” he told you. 

At your disappointed mewl, he sighed and rubbed his hand firmly into your back, eliciting a deeper, more sensual sound. “I know little one, but I have obligations I have to fulfill, and as much as I’d like to stay here with you, I can’t.” Pulling back slightly, he smiled softly and lifted his hand from your hair to rest on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin gently.

“I’ll give you my new phone number and if you need to call or text me, you can,” he murmured, staring down at you as his thumb ran over your cheekbone. He was looking at you like you were something precious and it made your throat tight and your wiggling thing vibrate in excitement.

Nodding faintly, you bit your lip, fighting the urge to throw your arms around him and kiss him with all the force of your desire behind it. You weren’t allowed to come without his permission, you doubted he’d take you kissing him well.

Disappointment made your lips quaver for a moment before you pasted on a fake smile and leaned into his hand, “Okay,” you agreed, “be careful in the snow,” you told him, glancing out the window to where sticky white flakes were plastering to everything.

Father Brolin chuckled and leaned down, taking you by surprise as his lips pressed to your forehead. “I’ll be careful sweetheart. You just rest and get your homework done,” he murmured, lips brushing against your skin.

When he pulled away, hand slipping from beneath your shirt, you bit back a whine at the loss, crossing your arms over your chest unhappily. Father Brolin pulled on a leather jacket you hadn’t noticed before and that heat in your belly flared brighter. He looked… _sexy_.

He paused at the door and smiled again at you and you couldn’t take it anymore. Running across the room, you launched yourself into his arms, yours twining around his neck so you could pull him as close as you could. His hands landed on your hips, tight and reassuring.

Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his jaw, just below his ear, and felt him shiver. “Please be careful,” you whispered, just barely begging. You thought you might be sick if anything happened to him.

His hands on your hips tightened and his voice was gruff when he replied. “I will little one, I promise.” Pulling back, he stared into your eyes for a moment, his gaze flickering to your lips before he lowered his chin, mouth hovering just above yours. 

Excitement thrummed through every inch of your body, anticipation making your breath pant out in needy little gasps. His dark eyes were hot, searing into you, and the heat of his breath fanned over your skin.

“Be good princess, and you might get a kiss,” he whispered, lips quirking when you let out a tiny whimper and arched into him. His hand was firm on your hip, squeezing for a moment. “Be good,” he murmured more firmly, gaze fixing you in place. 

Nodding, you pulled back reluctantly, sighing unhappily when his hands slid from your waist. His eyes were dark as he smiled down at you, and when the door had closed between you, the silence of the house was immediately overwhelming. 

* * *

You stayed focused the whole day, doing your homework and eating the soup Father Brolin had made last night. When you had finished doing laundry and remaking your bed, you were sweaty and tired, and missing Father Brolin.

Filling the tub with lavender bath salts and frothy bubbles, you turned on a playlist of soft, sultry music and slid beneath the water with a sigh. Eyes falling closed, you sank deeper into the water and let each muscle in your body soften. As the music played, you let your mind wander back to how Father Brolin’s hands had felt on your body, how his lips had hovered over yours, so close to meeting yours.

Lifting a hand to stroke over your collarbones, you shivered at the sensation of heat building under your skin. Your skin was wet and your nipples hardened at the touch of cold air when you shifted, hand sliding down to cup the weight of your breast. Running a thumb over the nipple, you moaned as heat spiraled through you. Pinching it between your fingers, you gasped softly, arching into the pain so sweet it made you whimper and want to beg for more.

Lifting your other hand to the opposite breast, you repeated the action, moaning louder and shifting hungrily in the water. Abandoning one breast, you slid your hand between your legs, whimpering loudly as your fingers found your clit. 

“Please, please,” you gasped, eyes falling shut as you rubbed desperately, wishing it was Father Brolin’s rough hands instead of your own. “Ah! Father Brolin, _ah_ , _ah_ , please,” you moaned, hips rolling into your increasingly desperate strokes.

You didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear Father Brolin’s steps or his low sigh of disappointment, too wrapped up in chasing your release.

“Oh _Angel_ , what do you think you’re doing?”

Your eyes flashed open in shock, hands stilling on your body as you stared up in horror at Father Brolin looming over you, disappointment lining his face. Fear, anxiety and shame swelled within you and you immediately scrambled to apologize, make an excuse, anything. “I’m sorry! Father Brolin–”

He held up a hand, effectively cutting you off. He stared down at you for a long moment, letting the tension grow until you were practically crying. Tears welled in your eyes and he sighed, shaking his head. 

Crouching down, he scanned over your body, lingering on the parts of you sticking out of the water. His hand trailed over the water, stirring it, sending it lapping against your breasts. The hand slipped further into the water and wrapped around your wrist pulling your hand away from your cunt and into the air.

Holding it just beneath his nose, he inhaled, pupils blowing wide as the scent of your pussy filled his nose. His fingers on your wrist tightened until it ached, but you knew better than to object. 

You had been trying to come and you weren’t allowed to do that unless Father Brolin said so. With a growling sound he pulled you roughly from the water, ignoring your sharp cry of surprise as he slid back to pull you into his arms. His hands banded around your wrists, holding tightly as he pushed you out of the bathroom and into your bedroom.

Your heart was thundering in your chest as Father Brolin glared at you. Heedless of your nudity he yanked you across his lap where he had taken a seat at your desk. Your ass popped into the air and you breathed unevenly, tiny sobs escaping you as you whispered pleading apologies, tears burning in your eyes at how you had disappointed him.

“Be quiet,” he ordered sharply, hand twining through your damp hair and tugging on it until it hurt. You trembled in his lap, tears already streaking down your cheeks. 

He was going to punish you, that much was clear. What you didn’t know was if he would stop teaching you, if you had finally proven that you weren’t a good girl and couldn’t ever be one. Your chest tightened at the thought of never seeing him again, never having him praise you or tease you again.

“I’m so disappointed in you Angel. I thought you knew how to be a good girl,” he growled, hand tightening in your hair again. “Now we have to start over.” His other hand shoved your legs between his, trapping them with his powerful thighs and forcing your ass even higher. “Feel free to cry Angel. I won’t enjoy this and neither will you,” he murmured, sounding pained and upset.

A breath later his hand cracked across your ass, harder than it ever had and you cried out loudly, the pain making it hard to breathe. He continued that way, not bothering to make you count them(though you did anyway in your head).

By the time he had spanked you twenty times your breath was hitching in your chest under the force of your sobs. Your ass and thighs felt like they were on fire, the ache so deep it felt like it was in your bones.

Just when you thought it was over, Father Brolin flipped you over so your belly and cunt and breasts were exposed. His heart lurched at the tears on your face and the agony in your eyes, but he knew the lesson had to be hard to sink in. 

Gritting his teeth, he used a rough hand to spread your thighs and slap your cunt with the flat of his hand. You shrieked as pain lashed through your soft pussy lips, again and again. When he had done five he ceased, breathing heavily. A thick lock of hair had fallen into his face and as you whimpered and sobbed, his chest heaved with a broken-hearted sound.

His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you up and into his chest, one large hand pressing your face into his neck so you couldn’t see the regret in his face. Your fingers curled into his sweater, clinging to it like an anchor, your chest constricted with tears and sorrow. 

Your whole body hurt, and you couldn’t stop the tears that continued to fall. Father Brolin blinked rapidly, pushing his own emotional response back until he was under control and could gentle his hands and stroke your back gently. He could feel you shivering, though it sounded like your tears were beginning to slow.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice raspy and thick. You made a faint noise and he knew he had your attention. “Do you know why I had to punish you?” he asked gently, lifting his fingers to curl around your chin and turned it so his eyes could find yours. 

At the sight of the tears staining your cheeks he almost broke, the urge to pull you close and kiss away the pain so powerful he had to look away for a moment and compose himself. “B-because I was trying to come,” you whispered, lips trembling and eyes watering as you stared up at him.

He nodded and turned his gaze back to yours. “I want you to know how disappointed I am in you. I know you can be better, be my good girl. But if you disobey me again like that, I’ll be forced to conclude that you don’t want my help anymore.” 

He stared intently down at you and you shivered as the cool touch of air caressed your overheated skin. He didn’t miss the action and after a moment stood, holding you in his arms as he carried you back to the bathroom. Crouching beside the tub, he lowered you in, heedless of the water soaking into his sleeves.

You whimpered as the hot water bit at your aching flesh, shivers running over your body in waves. Father Brolin rolled up his sleeves and picked up the washcloth, hands gentle as he washed your back, long fingers lingering on your skin in a way that sent different shivers over your body. “After this you are going to bed. Tomorrow morning I will take you to mass and I expect you to pray on your behavior.”

You nodded listlessly, exhaustion seeping into your bones. When your hair was clean and the water had cooled, Father Brolin stood and held out a towel, tucking it around your body before he grabbed a bottle of lotion from the counter and with much gentler hands then before, put you over his knee where he sat on your bed.

Shivers ran over your skin as he squirted the cold lotion onto your ass, hands gentle as he rubbed it into the skin of your thighs and rosy cheeks. His fingers dipped between your thighs to smear some into your mound, a sharp gasp slipping from you as his fingers slipped between your pussy lips for one heady moment. When he was done he stood, maneuvering you off his lap. Averting his gaze, he sighed slowly, “Get dressed and into bed.”

Heart in your throat you nodded, “W-will you stay with me?” you whispered, nearly choking on the words. 

He hesitated and after a moment, shook his head. “I have an errand to run. Go to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

When the bedroom door shut between you, you collapsed to the floor, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Sobs wrenched from your chest and you wound your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together when it felt like you were shattering. 

* * *

Father Brolin stood outside your door, listening to you sob, throat thick with emotion. He hated seeing you in pain, knowing that it was his hand that had done it. All he wanted was to go back in the room and pull you into his arms and hold you close until you fell asleep.

But he couldn’t.

He had something to get, something he had been planning on using as a reward, but would easily work to teach you a lesson. With a heavy heart he turned away and left the house, carrying his regret with him.

* * *

You woke to an empty house and an even emptier feeling inside you. It had taken you hours to fall asleep last night, body throbbing with pain and loss. You had cried yourself to sleep and now you were grimacing at the headache that pulsed behind your eyes.

After a night of restless sleep and long hours of contemplation you knew that what had happened had been because you had flouted Father Brolin’s teachings, pretending like you knew best. You were fairly sure you had seen pain in his eyes when they had met yours before he left and you were smart enough to recognize the rigid set of his shoulders as a defensive mechanism against your tears.

With a heavy sigh you slid from bed, wincing as your…everything protested. Moving slowly, you went to the kitchen and made a bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter and raspberry jam mixed in, nearly choking on how thick it was in the back of your throat.

Or maybe that was regret choking you.

As you dried your hands after washing out your bowl, you startled at the knock on the front door. Heart racing, you hurried over, staring breathlessly up at Father Brolin, heart pounding behind your ribs.

He stared back down at you and cast a glance behind you, brow lifting, “May I come in Angel?” he asked politely. Nodding eagerly, you stepped back, eyes refusing to leave him, anticipation and anxiety pulling through your blood. He was dressed for Mass already, but he had a plain black paper bag in one hand, drawing your curious gaze.

Father Brolin noted where your gaze was focused and smirked faintly. Surprising you, he handed over the bag, watching as you opened it and flushed. Pulling out the black lace panties, you frowned at how heavy they felt in your hand. Before you had a chance to examine them more, Father Brolin nudged your shoulder, giving you a serious look.

“Go get dressed little one. We have to leave soon.”

Nodding, you ran back to your room and hurriedly tugged your clothes off, replacing them with the underwear you had been given and a matching black bra. Pulling on a thick green sweater and black skinny jeans, you pulled your unruly hair into a bun and hurriedly tugged your boots on. Father Brolin gave you an approving look and laid a hand on your shoulder, guiding you out the door and into his car.

 

You were sitting in the third pew back as Father Brolin processed down the aisle, singing the opening hymn in his deep baritone when suddenly, something began vibrating in your underwear.

Gasping sharply, you lashed out a hand to cling to the pew, breathing unsteadily as the hymn continued. When Father Brolin had made it to his chair on the altar, his gaze swept over the congregation, a wide smile warming his face.

“Good morning family in Christ! Peace be with you!”

A smattering of peace be with you too and good morning-s filled the church, though you found you couldn’t say anything as you fought not to moan or roll your hips into the vibration.

Father Brolin’s gaze landed on you for a moment before he smiled and continued the mass. As the congregation began singing, the vibrations ceased. Shaky and nervous, you lifted your voice in praise with theirs, eyes flitting between the page of your hymnal and Father Brolin’s face.

Just when you thought you were safe, kneeling in prayer, it started again, harder than before. Biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood, you choked down a whimper and closed your eyes, determined not to come.

The church was silent as people prayed and you too prayed desperately that no one could hear what was happening. As the prayer ended, so too did the vibrations. You sank back into the pew with a sigh of relief, flushed and shaking. 

* * *

“My goodness Angel, you look flushed! Are you ill?”

You smiled unsteadily at Mrs. Figg, nodding. “I uh, have a cold,” you murmured, knuckles white where you were clinging to the pew, the vibrations stronger than they had been before.

Clucking disapprovingly, she lifted a hand to your forehead, shaking her head unhappily. “You feel feverish my dear! You should be in bed,” she admonished.

“Not to worry Mrs. Figg! I’m taking Angel home right now.” Father Brolin had appeared beside you to smile benevolently at the old woman, “Her parents are out of town and I’m taking care of our Angel,” he told her, smiling warmly when she cooed and laid a hand on his arm, exclaiming on how good he was. With a parting admonishment to rest, she limped from the church and left you in the silence with Father Brolin.

The vibrations had yet to cease and you were shaking with them, sweat on your brow as you struggled not to come. You had been taken to the edge for an hour, over and over again, teasing until you had tears in your eyes and others had marveled at your religious fervor. 

It was so nice to see a young person awed by the grace of god, they thought. 

Wished their children could be more like you. 

If they knew what was really happening they would have been appalled. 

Staring up at Father Brolin desperately, you whimpered deep in your throat, nails digging into your palm. “Please…please!” you gasped, hips arching into the vibrations, eager for release.

Father Brolin stared down at you, pupils wide but jaw firm. “Do you think you deserve to come?” he asked softly, lips quirking when you whined loudly, tears in your eyes as you shook your head unsteadily. “Why not?”

“B-because I-I dis-disobeyed you,” you gasped, whining louder as your whole body shivered in anticipation of release. Your clit hurt from the ache burning within you and when Father Brolin simply stared down at you assessingly you gasped and tried to arch away from the vibrations, not wanting to come without his permission and disappoint him further.

“Please…I’m gonna…please!” you cried, tears leaking out as your release built within your gut like a blaze. Just as you began to crest it, the vibrations ceased and you wailed, slumping against the pew as you shook and gasped, hips surging forward without thought, desperate for release. You could feel your cunt pulsing hungrily, wet slicking your thighs from how you had been on edge all morning.

Father Brolin watched you gasp and tremble, his cock hard behind his trousers. He hadn’t been sure you would pass this test. He had teased you to the point of release for an hour, changing the speed and intensity of the vibrations until he could see the desperation from where he had been sitting on the altar.

“You did well Angel. You showed me you can do as I say. You did good sweetheart,” he murmured softly, heart warming when you nuzzled into the hand he laid on your cheek. 

Your eyes were wide when you looked up at him, panting breathily. A flush pinked your cheeks and your eyes were bright with need, lips bitten so they were puffy and red and he swallowed hard.

You looked utterly _debauched_. 

He wanted to see you come apart, again and again, knowing somehow it would be even better than this had been. But that would have to wait.

Gently he guided you out to his car, leaving his hand on your thigh as he drove, unwilling to stop touching you now that your time together while your parents were away was ending. 

He escorted you inside, shutting the door behind him, lingering for a moment before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him. “Take those off and give them back,” he ordered, smirking when your eyes went wide. “Until I can trust you not to make yourself come, you don’t get them when you aren’t with me,” he told you firmly.

Nodding, you stepped back when he released you, hurrying to your room to strip them off, flushing when you saw the thin material was soaked. Hastily pulling your jeans back on, you forwent new underwear for the moment, not even bothering to button them in your haste to get back to him.

Blushing heavily, you handed over the underwear, and then to your complete and utter shock, Father Brolin lifted them to his nose and inhaled. A choked noise of desire was strangled in your throat and his lips quirked into a smirk. Shoving them in his pocket, he stared down at you, eyeing you curiously.

When his arm looped around your waist and poked you so tightly against him you could feel his erection pressing into your hip, you gasped in surprise. His face was so close to yours and you could hear the unsteady breaths he was taking, his large chest pressing against yours with each breath. 

“I think you deserve a little reward for being so good. Hmm? What do you think princess? Were you a good girl?” he whispered, voice raspy and low, sending shivers over your skin.

Nodding eagerly, you clung to his shirt, “Yes Father Brolin, I’m a good girl,” you whispered, “ _your_ good girl.” At that he growled softly, ducking his head so his lips could press to yours.

It was like your brain had shorted out, you were stunned and motionless, simply standing there as his lips pressed yours. When his teeth nipped your lower lip and his tongue chased after, soothing the slight burn, you jolted out of your trance. Hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt, you tugged him down, one arm winding around his neck as he groaned in approval.

His large hands slid down to cup your ass and roll your hips into his, swallowing your mewl as you abused clit was pressed into the rough fabric of your jeans. Tongue sliding against yours, Father Brolin groaned as your sweet taste flooded his mouth. He knew this was bad, that he shouldn’t have ever done it, but he had realized a long time ago that he shouldn’t ever have become a priest.

One of his hands tangled in your hair and tugged, so differently than before, until your head tilted back and he could stare down at you as you both panted. Your pupils were so wide they ate the color from your eyes, and the flush on your cheeks made him ache, wishing he could trace it down your throat with his teeth. 

Softening as he realized you were once more on the edge, he loosened his grip and pulled you against his chest gently, hand stroking over your hair. “You were so good today princess. I’m so proud of my good girl,” he crooned, warmth filling his chest when you sighed in pleasure, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. 

He dropped kisses to the crown of your head, inhaling the scent of your skin, eyes falling shut in pleasure. “My princess, my good girl,” he murmured over and over again.

He should renounce his vows, leave this town behind, forget he ever met you. 

You nuzzled into his chest with a happy sound, whispering, “For you, I’m good for _you_ ,” and he knew he could never leave you. 

Eternal damnation didn’t scare him as much as the idea of losing you did. 

Closing his eyes, he sent a prayer that was perhaps futile up to whomever could be listening for that to never happen.

Who needed an immortal soul when he had you?


	5. Chapter 5

Your cold had finally abated, and you were able to participate in field hockey practice without breaking out into coughing fits that left you breathless.

You weren’t happy with this development however, because Father Brolin had been called away to spend time with a death row inmate on Sunday morning. He had texted you last night to let you know he wouldn’t be back until he was done sitting with the victim’s family and you knew it wasn’t fair to be upset at his absence, but here you were, unhappy, aroused and unable to do a damn thing about it.

Monday night after a long hot shower to scrape the mud from your skin that had been stuck on in layers from hockey practice, you curled up in bed with your phone, staring at the black screen. You were tired and sore from practice, anxious about the SAT’s and annoyed that your parents were once again hounding you to pick a college they approved of.

They were determined to send you on a path they approved of, regardless of your wishes, and it made you want to run away and never look back.

You needed to escape.

After a long few minutes of indecision and anxiety, you unlocked your phone and sent Father Brolin a text.

_I miss you_

It was simple, but you were hoping(praying?)he’d respond with something similar. Long minutes passed and then—

**_I miss you too sweetheart. Were you good today?_ **

_I was. I kept thinking about you, wishing you were here to help me be better._

**_Oh? What were you thinking about?_ **

_How you made me pray the rosary…and how good it felt to ride your thigh._

**_Is that right little one? You did so good with that. Maybe I should have you do it again._ **

_Would you touch me if I did?_

**_How should I touch you?_ **

_You should touch my breasts, I want to feel your skin on mine. Feel the roughness of your fingers on my nipples._

**_Baby_** …

_I want you to twist and pinch and suck on them until I’m close, until I’m begging you to let me come._

**_Do you come?_ **

_No! I’m not allowed. Not until you say so. Even if I’m all wet and moaning your name._

**_What a good girl…_ **

_All for you_

**_That’s right, you’re my good girl. What else do you want?_ **

_I want you to finger me, feel how wet I am, make me ride your fingers without letting me come._

**_I’d love to see that little one. I bet you’d soak my fingers, make a mess all over me._ **

_Yessss_

**_I’d wreck that little pussy, make you cry and beg to come._ **

_Fuck, please…make me come_

**_How do you want it?_ **

_Your cock. I want your cock inside me, taking me apart, making me scream your name, filling me up with your cum._

**_Oh I’d give it to you little one, I’d fill you all up so you know who you belong to._ **

_YOURS_

**_Mine_ **

You were panting, hips rolling to seek out friction, an ache so deep within you that you weren’t sure it could ever be gotten rid of. When your phone rang you answered it hastily, gasping into the speaker, “Please, please, can I touch myself?”

A low groan rolled over the line, rumbling and shivering over your skin, down your spine and into your gut.

“You can’t come,” was the growled response and you were nodding, panting your agreement even as your hand dove beneath your soft cotton pants.

There was a slick sound as your fingers found your cunt, and the ache within you throbbed, making you sob softly.

“Was that your cunt baby? You all wet?” he murmured hoarsely.

Whimpering out a yes, you rubbed over your clit, circling it for a moment before your fingers were curling into your cunt, spreading yourself with two fingers.

“Let me see.”

Your breath shuddered out and you held still for just a minute before whispering _okay_.

Your door was locked and at this time of night, your whole family would be asleep. Shimmying your pajama bottoms off, you tossed back the covers and propped yourself up against pillows, spreading your knees as you dropped pillows between your legs and set your phone up so he would have a good view.

Connecting the FaceTime call, you waved shyly when Father Brolin’s face filled your screen. Spreading your legs, you whimpered when he groaned loudly and reached down to palm himself through his jeans.

“Go ahead baby, touch yourself,” he ordered, voice gravelly and low.

Wasting no time, you shifted your hips towards the phone until you could see your cunt and the angle of your torso, still covered by your long shirt. Sliding a hand between your legs, you rubbed at your clit, moaning softly as the ache within you grew. “I’m so wet,” you gasped arching your hips so he could see it in the light from your desk lamp. Father Brolin groaned and rubbed his cock harder, eyes black with desire.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispered, watching as your fingers curled into it, seeking that spot you had found a few times before.

Your pants and moans rang across the connection and when you found that spot, your hips jumped, a high whimper breaking in your throat. “Fuck, it feels so good,” you gasped, head lolling back as heat flooded your belly.

Your free hand slid up under your shirt to toy with your nipples, circling them, pinching, pulling and kneading until you were shaking, just on the edge with how your fingers were fucking into you.

“Don’t come.”

Whining, you pulled your hand from your breast reluctantly, sliding your fingers from your cunt and breathed unsteadily for a few moments. Leaning forward a little, you smiled into the camera, “Hi,” you whispered softly, joy filling you to finally be seeing his face.

The tension in his face eased and he smiled back, “Hi princess,” he murmured, hand still on his hard cock. “You look so pretty like that, spread out so I can see.”

Nodding, you slid a hand down and spread your lips so he could see how wet you were, how engorged and red your clit was from needing him. “It’s all for you,” you whispered, “because I’m a good girl.” Groaning, he squeezed his cock and nodded, seemingly unable to form words. A thought occurred to you and you slid your fingers over your clit slowly, letting the ache burning within it grow a little. “Father Brolin, I wanna see your cock.” At his wide eyed look you flushed and smiled hesitantly, “I wanna see you come because I’m a good girl,” you whispered.

At this he groaned and hurried to undo his pants, shoving them down a little until his cock sprang free. Wide eyed, you leaned forward, staring hungrily at it. It looked thicker and longer than you had imagined from the few times it had been pressed against you.

“It’s so big,” you whispered reverently, moaning a little as you imagined how it would fill you, stretch you, fuck you. Your fingers rubbed harder on your clit and you moaned when Father Brolin began stroking his cock, his low voice even deeper as he murmured all manner of filthy things to you.

“You like this big cock? Huh? You want me to fill you up princess?”

At your whimpered nod, he groaned and stroked himself harder, still talking. “I bet your cunt is so tight, bet it would stretch around me so good. I’d tuck those legs over my shoulders and fuck you into your mattress, watch your cunt swallow me, watch you writhe and beg and moan.”

Your fingers curled inside you once more, heel of your hand grinding into your clit as your other hand toyed with your breasts, shirt tucked up out of the way. Whimpering, you nodded, gasping for breath. “Please, I want it so bad. I want you to fuck me. Fuck me so good!”

“Yea baby? Fuck, fuck Angel, I’m gonna come,” he rasped, hips pumping up into his hand with a slick sound that made pleasure shiver up your spine. You were so close.

“Please, please! Let me come!” you begged, voice high and broken as you teetered on the precipice.

Father Brolin growled and shook his head, hand still fisting his cock, “If you come I’ll turn your ass black and blue,” he warned, groaning as he twisted his hand around the sensitive tip of his cock, hips juttering.

Mewling loudly, you ripped your hands from your body, nails digging into the sheets as your hips rolled and your cunt pulsed, desperate for a fucking, aching to be filled. Through bleary eyes, you watched as Father Brolin came, his long low groan making you whine.

Cum splattered out into his stomach where his shirt had rucked up, his face almost pained as he kept stroking.

“Fuck baby, you’re so good, so good. Can’t wait to fuck you,” he gasped, strokes slowing as the sensation became too much. When he pulled his hand away you swallowed hard, imagining what it would feel like to have all that cum inside you.

Your eyes were heavy as you lifted the phone and held it close to your face, watching as he cleaned off his stomach and cock, tucking it back in his briefs carefully.

When his gaze found your face, it warmed with affection. “Hey baby, you doin ok?”

Nodding, you rubbed a hand into your eyes and yawned, “Yea just had a long day at school. I finally got back to hockey practice now that I’m better.” You hesitated a moment and Father Brolin could tell you had more to say, but instead of continuing, you just bit your lip and smiled faintly at him.

“You sure you’re ok?” He prodded, sighing when you just shrugged. “You should get some rest.”

Nodding, you slid beneath the covers and smiled at him through sleepy eyes. “Will you stay on until I fall asleep?”

Father Brolin nodded and settled back into his chair, smiling softly as he watched you relax and quickly fall asleep.

He hadn’t expected you to text him like that, to admitting to those things you wanted, that he wanted. But now that you had…

He ended the call and stood from his desk, pondering the way things had so fundamentally changed. You weren’t just a young woman he was training to be good anymore, you were his and that meant he was yours.

Something akin to pride filled him at that idea, that he could be yours, that you could make him come like he was 16 again, and he realized that he wanted more, _much_ more than that.

Stunned, he stood beneath the crucifix, realizing that he wanted _everything_ with you. A future. A life. _Love_.

“God in Heaven forgive me,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his chest to try and steady his rapidly beating heart.

He was falling in love.

 

Father Brolin hadn’t been at school today or the day before. He hadn’t answered your texts, left a note for you, _nothing_.

You were simultaneously furious and deeply hurt. After Monday night you had expected things to be different, had hoped you would be able to see him, maybe make him come again…

Instead, you had to sit through two days of school with no word on when or if you would see him again soon. During debate practice you swam in an ocean of anxiety, upset and hurt by his continued silence. You kept scrolling through the text conversation from last night, unable to look away from how he had called you his. But if that was true, he wouldn’t be ignoring you.

A dark part of your mind whispered that he had been lying, just saying what you wanted to hear so he could watch you torture yourself at his command. _Maybe he’s just playing with you. Maybe he’s fucking a **real** woman and not a teenager. Maybe he never wanted you. _

You had to swallow back the rising tide of sickness in your gut at these thoughts, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead as you struggled through debate practice. Internally you questioned the logic of going to the rectory, confronting him, but that ugly voice in your head whispered that he wouldn’t want to see you, that he might laugh in your face.

It wasn’t fair, you decided, that he could so easily ignore you when it nearly made you sick to your stomach to go without his voice or his hands or be without his calming presence. It wasn’t fair that you were left waiting without any word that he hadn’t just abruptly decided to end this thing between you. It wasn’t fair that the trust you had placed in him was so easily broken and discarded, like it was worth _nothing_.

Mentally and physically exhausted, you shoved the front door open, shivering in the icy wind and snow that had battered you from the moment you left school. Your car had finally died for good and your parents couldn’t afford both a new car and college, so you had been forced to take the bus or walk.

A loud, warm laugh echoed down the hall and your head whipped up, body thrumming with awareness. You knew that laugh.

Kicking off your boots, you hastily hung your jacket on the stand and stumbled down the hall to the living room. Eyes wide, you stared in shock at the sight of your parents and Father Brolin on the couch, talking and laughing.

His dark gaze rose to meet yours and for a moment heat flashed in his eyes before a pleasant, neutral expression washed it away.

“What are you doing here?” you asked heedlessly, voice sharper than it normally would be, your anger with him evident in your posture and gaze.

“Angel! That was unconscionably rude! Apologize to Father Brolin!” your mother demanded, shaking her head with a rueful look at the man in question. “She’s never this rude, I apologize Father.”

Father Brolin shook his head with a mild, placating smile, “Not to worry Mrs. Rossi, Angel has been sick and working extra hard at school, I expect we’d all be a little short at the end of the day if we were doing as much work as she does.”

Your mother flushed at the unexpected praise and patted her hair, “Well, we do encourage hard work in this family.”

Father Brolin smiled politely, “It certainly shows. I’ve been mentoring Angel after school to help her prepare for her future, and I must say, she’s shown incredible talent and determination.” He laughed softly and gave your mother a wink that had her blushing, “She certainly keeps me on my toes.”

Your father made a low noise of approval, “That’s very generous of you Father. I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.”

Father Brolin met your gaze, “She certainly is. She’s a good girl who learns quickly and I’m very proud of her.”

Heat flushed your face at that; while your parents probably thought he was talking about your academic achievements, you knew first hand what he was _really_ referring to. The nearly instinctual rush of pleasure at his praise was quickly overcome by anger and hurt; how dare he act like he hadn’t been ignoring you all day, making you question everything, including your worth.

“As to why I’m here Angel, I was just telling your parents about a good friend of mine who works as an art history professor and author. I gave her some of your papers and she was very impressed. She has an internship available this summer and if you’re interested, she’d like to interview you this weekend.”

Dumbfounded, you stared at him, mute, as your mind struggled to make sense of what he had just offered. Your mother was looking at you in excited expectation and while your father didn’t really do _excited_ , he did seem pleased.

“I-I have hockey practice on Saturday,” you replied dumbly, your gaze silently questioning.

“Honey! This is a big opportunity, I’m sure your coach won’t mind you missing one practice!” your mother cut in, scoffing and shaking her head.

Father Brolin smiled faintly, “I’ve already checked and you have a free pass to miss. We would leave after school tomorrow, and then first thing Saturday morning you’ll meet with Hannah. We’ll be back before dinner,” he said, smiling reassuringly at your parents.

They seemed to have no issues with you traveling alone with Father Brolin—and why would they? They had no idea the things happening between you.

Frustration at his cavalier attitude towards maneuvering your life around collided with the anger and hurt of his absence and distance today and with a petulant shake of your head, you refused. “I’m sorry Father Brolin but I have to lead a study group for the SAT’s tomorrow after school.”

He gazed at you steadily, something sharp and assessing in his eyes and you fought the urge to fidget or glare at him. “Well, if you’re sure,” he murmured, sounding disappointed.

You fought the urge to please him, nodding and avoiding his gaze. Your mother scoffed and laid a hand on Father Brolin’s arm, “Nonsense. She’ll go. Someone else can lead the study session.”

He looked up at you and when your gaze met, you knew he was going to agree. “That sounds perfect Marie,” he murmured.

Numb with anger, you stood like a statue while Father Brolin said his goodbyes to your parents before politely inviting you to walk him out to his car so he could share the details of the trip with you.

You almost refused but figured you had pushed back as much as your parents were going to allow, so you nodded faintly and pulled your jacket and boots back on before following him out into the bitter, snowy night.

A large hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the alley between the house and the garage, and when you glared up at him, you shivered at the intensity of his gaze.

“What was _that_ Angel?” he demanded, voice gravelly and angry.

Shoving his hand off you, you stood straighter and glared up at him, hating how he loomed over you, how your body responded to his presence. “I have other things in my life than you and you don’t get to rearrange everything without talking to me first!”

His brow furrowed deeply, “This was meant to be a surprise Angel, a treat for you, and me. We can be alone, together.” He frowned, softening, “I thought you’d be happy,” he admitted quietly.

Frustration and hurt and pleasure swirled through you and you bit your bottom lip, struggling to come up with a response. “I-I…do want that,” you admitted, “but you didn’t respond to me at all, _for_ _two days_. I thought…I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you whispered, tears burning in your eyes as the hurt of it thickened your throat. When he tried to take your hand again you shook your head vehemently and yanked it away, sniffling back angry tears. “No! You don’t get to touch me right now!” you snapped, “You don’t get to do that until I can trust you again,” you told him, glaring up at his dour countenance.

Hurt spasmed across his face, “You don’t trust me?” he asked softly, voice low and scratchy.

Turning your gaze away from the inky depths of his, you shook your head faintly. “You treated me like I was unimportant, like responding to me didn’t matter. You made me feel worthless,” you spat at him, anger and hurt swirling within you in a maelstrom that left you dizzy and breathing unsteadily.

Father Brolin flinched, face paling and took a large step back. His throat worked as he realized just how badly he had hurt you with his inattentiveness and thoughtless distraction. Reaching out slowly, he laid a hand on your cheek and took a step back towards you, heart aching as you refused to look up at him, stiff under his touch.

“Baby, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he whispered, voice hoarse and unsteady. “I had to be with the family of the man they put to death, and the victim’s family. I didn’t look at my phone, I was distracted and tired and…” he sighed heavily, “and I should have.”

His thumb on your chin pressed gently and tried to make you look up, only to have you smack his hand away and glare up at him. “I’m busy too,” you retorted, “but I still make time to do as you ask, see you after school even though I’m drowning in homework and SAT prep and practices!” You pushed him back, so angry and hurt you wanted to lash out, hurt him so he knew what you were feeling. “My parents don’t care what I want, and neither do you!” you sobbed, angry tears streaming down your face as you slapped his arm.

Father Brolin’s face darkened at this and he took a large step forward, strong arms banding around you as he pulled you into his chest, your sobs muffled against his coat.

“I do care sweetheart,” he crooned, “you’re all I care about. All I think about. I want you to be happy,” he promised. You hiccoughed and cried harder against his chest, nails digging into the wool of his coat. “If you aren’t happy baby, we don’t have to do this, we don’t have to do any of it,” he told you gently.

At your wretched sounding sob, tears welled in his eyes and his throat grew thick, hands tightening their hold so you were practically smothered against him. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, but eventually your tears slowed and the gentle patterns Father Brolin’s hands were rubbing on your back helped soothe you.

Wiping at your eyes, you looked up at him through tear stained eyes, completely breaking his heart. His hands lifted to cup your cheeks and his voice was unsteady when he spoke. “What do you want sweetheart? I’ll do whatever you want,” he promised.

Swallowing hard, you stared up into the fathomless depths of his gaze, struggling to articulate what it was you wanted, _needed_. Long minutes passed in silence, the only other sound the howling of the wind.

Clearing your throat you spoke slowly, picking your words carefully. This was a defining moment for this _thing_ between you, and you had to get it right.

“I want you to tell me the truth when I ask. I want you to text me when you’re going to be busy so I know not to expect to hear from you like normal.” Father Brolin nodded along with your requests and you continued, heart in your throat. “I want to know if I’m the only one you’re doing this with.”

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to respond, cutting off when you shook your head, “I’m not done,” you told him. His lips snapped shut and his gaze darkened at your authoritative tone.

“I want to know what this is that we’re doing; what does it mean to you?” You paused and then continued, “I won’t be a part of this if you can’t do those things for me. I can’t be _yours_ if you treat me like I’m just a kid. You have to respect me and accept that I need breaks from all of _that_ so I can just _be_ with you.”

Father Brolin waited until you nodded, chest tight with unnamable emotions.

“First, you are the _only_ person I am doing this with, and the only one I want to do this with,” he whispered urgently. “Second, this thing, that we’re doing? It’s the most important thing to me. _You_ are the most important thing in my life and I’ll do whatever you need to keep you a part of my life,” he told you urgently, voice low and intense.

“You can have breaks whenever you need it baby, you just tell me you want to stop and we will. You tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised, dark eyes bright with unshed tears.

You swallowed hard at his earnest tone and the way his hands clung to you like he thought you’d push him away again.

He pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours, breath warm and spicy like cinnamon on your skin. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Nodding, you clung to his elbows, staring deep in his eyes as he murmured apologies over and over again. When his chin tilted down and his gaze flickered to your mouth, you knew what was coming .

“Can I kiss you?” he asked almost pleadingly.

Shaking your head, you bit back an apology at the hurt and disappointment in his eyes. “I just…not yet,” you whispered. “I need time.”

He nodded and gave you warm smile, “Of course sweetheart.”

Instead of kissing you, he pulled you into his arms so your face was pressed to his throat and the delicious scent of his skin made your head spin and stomach clench. Clinging to him, you inhaled slowly, letting his strong arms hold you together.

“I should go back inside,” you whispered and could immediately feel his unhappiness, his arms tightening around you before they slipped away with a sigh of regret.

His dark eyes pierced you, “I’ll text you when I get home,” he offered, smiling when you nodded and squeezed his hand.

When he turned to go, a thought suddenly rose to the surface, something that had been lying just beneath the surface of your breakdown, waiting for this moment. “Wait!”

He turned back, brow raised questioningly, a hopeful look on his face.

“I want…I need to be in control while we’re gone. Of you, I mean. I need to be the one telling you what to do,” you told him hastily, a flush rising on your cheeks at the surprised look on his face.

He contemplated it for a moment, and then nodded. “Ok sweetheart, if that’s what you need, then we can do that,” he agreed.

Slightly stunned by his acquiescence you hesitated a moment and then smiled softly, “Ok.”

He stared at you for a long moment and then ducked his head against the wind, hurried to his car and drove away into the night.

When you went back inside your face was flushed from the cold, your parents were eager to talk all about your upcoming trip, and you were tired enough that you didn’t mind sitting there listening to them talk about you.

When you went to bed that night, you had a text from Father Brolin that warmed you, made that wiggling thing inside you squirm with delight for the first time in days.

_I’m so sorry I hurt you sweetheart, but I’m so glad we talked. I never want to hurt you like that again. I promise I won’t. Get some sleep, because we’ve got a big weekend ahead of us! I can’t wait to spend every moment together, giving you whatever you need._

* * *

Father Brolin had refused to tell you where you were going this weekend, deeming it a surprise, and eventually, tired from school and practices and the emotional pain of the past few days, you had fallen asleep in the passenger seat.

When the car slowed to a stop you were waking up slowly, but the sight of skyscrapers and the iconic Empire State Building woke you up faster than a bucket of ice water.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, looking over to find Father Brolin grinning at you, “we’re in New York City!”

He laughed outright and nodded, “Come on the valet is waiting,” he told you, opening his door and popping the trunk so he could get your bags. You followed suit hastily, craning your neck to see everything you could before he was pushing you gently into the hotel and you gasped at the opulence.

“You can’t afford this!” you hissed at him, balking and staring wide eyed up at him.

Father Brolin smirked, “I can. I invest well. Come on,” he urged, reaching down to take your hand and pull you towards the concierge desk. You started to pull your hand away but stopped when you realized that a. He wasn’t dressed like a priest, b. No one knew who either of you were, and c. You really didn’t want to let go.

“Hi, checking in under Brolin?”

The woman behind the desk eyed you for a moment before smiling brightly, “Of course sir, one moment.”

Her nails clacked on the keys and then she was looking back up at you, gaze assessing for a beat before she smiled and slid keycards across the marvel countertop. “Here you go sir, enjoy your stay and let us know if you need anything.”

Father Brolin nodded and gave her a million watt smile that you noted left her a little dazed looking. Tugging you along, he continued to hold your hand in the elevator, down the hall of the 20th floor, and up to the double doors of the suite.

Eyes bugging as you took in the enormous windows spanning the sitting area, you dropped your bag and ran to them, pressing yourself against the glass so you could stare out at the lights winking below. Father Brolin loomed behind you, his body just shy of pressing into yours as he smiled at your reflection.

Glancing over your shoulder at him, you grinned happily, “This is amazing,” you breathed, wide eyed with delight. He smiled back and stepped forward, hands sliding over your waist hesitantly.

“This ok?” he asked softly, gaze questioning.

You nodded and turned back to stare out the windows, heart in your throat as he pulled you closer, chin resting on your head. You stood like that, inhaling the scent of him, secure in his arms, for what felt like hours.

When your stomach rumbled, he laughed in your ear, a low smokey sound that made your belly warm. “You hungry sweetheart?” At your nod he pressed a kiss to your hair, “I made reservations, you want to go out?”

At your nod he made a soft noise and stepped back, arms slipping from around your waist. “Better go get changed then,” he murmured, smiling when you gave him an excited smile and ran to do as he suggested.

Your belly was lit up with excitement and you took a little longer than normal dressing, wondering what he would say when he saw your dress. It was one you had found at a thrift store and never worn—never having an occasion really. But now, as you stepped out of the bedroom(singular—there was only one bed and Christ, you were trying not to shake when you thought what that could mean) you were glad you hadn’t gotten rid of the dress.

When Father Brolin looked up from his seat on the couch, the book he had been reading fell to the side as his eyes widened and his lips parted in shock.

Your dress was modest, by most definitions; ending just at the knee, with long sleeves and a gentle scoop neck, but with the scarlet color and the clinging fabric…

A flush rose in his coppery cheeks and his pupils blew wide as he studied you where you stood in front of him, hands clenching on his knees like he was fighting not to reach out and touch you.

To your surprise, you wanted him to. Even with how upset you had been just a day earlier and how you were scared to trust him again, you wanted him.

But for now, you’d wait.  

* * *

You were…tipsy.

At dinner(which had been perfect) you had been surprised when Father Brolin (now Josh) had bought a bottle of wine and then allowed you to have a glass (or two).

His arm was firm around your waist as he guided you back into the suite, laughter low and heavy when you giggled and pulled him into you, eyes wide as you laced your arms around his neck.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, taking you by surprise. When you nodded, he grinned and pulled your jackets off, tossing them on the couch before he turned on music from his phone, something soft and jazzy.

His arms were pulling you close then, guiding you in gentle swaying motions through a simple waltz, then slowing into soft swaying, the lights of the city the only illumination in the room.

Lips pressing to your hair, he hummed along with the music, hands spread over your back and hip. He could feel how delicate you were, how strong your legs and arms were from hockey, and heat spread below his skin. He wanted nothing more than to take you to bed, kiss you senseless and ravage you until the only thing you knew was him.

But this weekend wasn’t about what he wanted, so he just pressed another kiss to your hair and smiled when he felt you shiver and soften in his arms.

“You tired baby?”

Nodding, you laughed when he abruptly swung you into his arms, hands tucked against your back and under your knees. Breathless, you grinned and wound your arms around his neck, “My knight in shining armor,” you teased.

His eyes darkened and as he stepped into the bedroom, dropped his head till his lips were nearly brushing yours, “My princess,” he breathed.

Heat and need and want flooded your blood and with a gentle push, you slid from his arms and stepped back so you could put your hands on his waist and propel him toward the bed.

His gaze was dark as you toppled him back against the pillows and then stepped away, hand going to the top of your zipper and pulling it down slowly.

As your dress slipped away, his eyes burned with need and a low groan came from his throat as the silky black underwear you had saved for a special occasion came into view.

Shimmying your hips, you let the dress fall off so you were just in heels and lace and silk. The worshipful look in his gaze made you feel powerful, desired, and in control.

Father Brolin stared at you, breathless and absolutely sure that if he could worship at your altar for the rest of his life, it would be the only heaven he needed.

You slid onto the bed, straddling his lap and sat down, inhaling sharply when you felt his arousal pressing up into you. Lacing your fingers through his thick hair, you tugged, pulling his head back so you could peer into his eyes, belly fluttering at the wrecked look on his face.

Lowering your lips to his throat, you pressed a cherry red kiss to his skin, tongue darting out to taste it before your teeth pulled his skin between your lips and he was groaning, hips arching into you.

“I wanna make you come,” you whispered before sliding your lips down and biting his throat so he groaned again, louder this time.

“ _Yes_ , whatever you want baby,” he whispered, hands sliding up your thighs to sink into the firm flesh of your ass.

Smirking, you mouthed up to lick and nip at his earlobe, pleasure thrumming through you at his unsteady breaths and soft groans. Your breath was hot on his skin and he shuddered, groaning loudly when you whispered, “Beg.”

“Please, Angel, I want to come,” he whispered, voice gravelly with need. His hands clenched on the flesh of your ass, spread so wide they covered it and slipped beneath the thong you had chosen.  His hips rolled into yours with a groan, and this time when he begged, “Please, baby, Please,” you complied.

Keeping a hand in his hair, you sat up straight and arched your back a little, putting your full breasts just out of reach of his mouth, a tactic he didn’t seem to approve of, guessing by the way he made an unhappy sound and tried to rock forward.

Tugging on his hair you rolled your hips firmly down into his so your cunt slid along his clothed cock, sending a shiver over your spine and ripping a groan from his throat.

His dark eyes watched hungrily as you kept up a steady rhythm, hips rolling into him, his cock somehow getting harder beneath you. “Ah, ah, baby,” he moaned, jaw clenching as he shuddered, “I wanna come,” he groaned, a choked noise slipping from his throat when you abruptly rose off him, taking away all delicious friction and sending him toppling back down to the bottom of the hill in search of release.

As he groaned and his hips canted up, you slid back to rest on his thighs and smirked at him, undoing the tie around his neck and popping open the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“Baby, whatcha doing? I thought you wanted to make me come,” he murmured, trying to sound curious and not desperate, and failing miserably.

As you pushed his shirt down his shoulders, exposing his bare, muscular chest, you nodded, “I do. But I’ll do it _my_ way,” you told him with a naughty little smirk that made him want to haul you over his knee, paddle you until your ass was bright red and then have you suck him off.

But this weekend wasn’t about him, or how he would do things, so he swallowed hard and shifted so you could pull his shirt off fully. When that was done you unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and reached in to wrap your fingers around his cock through his briefs.

A high pitched sound choked off as you began stroking him, thumb caressing the head of his cock through the material, teasing out near continuous dribbles of pre cum.

“Are you gonna come? Huh Josh?” he growled at the sound of his name in your soft, sweet voice and decided that he couldn’t wait to hear it from you when he was finally inside you.

Once again you pulled back, stopping all friction and this time his hips bounced up with a guttural whine, a sound he hadn’t made in years. “Please, please baby, I can’t…” he shook his head desperately, almost unable to find the words, “I can’t take it.”

Grinning, you tugged his trousers and briefs down around his thighs and stared at his cock gleefully as it slapped against his stomach, the tip a furious purple red that leaked cum out with each beat of his heart. Sliding back up his thighs, you pressed close until his cock was trapped between you and your lips were hovering over his.

His dark gaze was riveted as you smirked down at him, “You _can_ Josh, and you will.” Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you watched as his eyes fluttered and his neck tensed, falling back with a thump against the headboard, breath heaving out as your thumb caressed the sensitive tip.

You marveled–at the iron strength lying beneath the surface of his cock, the way the velvet soft skin was slick with his pre cum, the way his breath almost came out in pained whines. His hips were pinned beneath yours so he was unable to thrust up into your hand, a thing he seemed distinctly unhappy about, given the way he was groaning your name and begging, sweat beading on his chest.

“Please Angel, it-it… _hurts_ ,” he gasped, hands squeezing into your hips firmly. “Please baby,” he whispered brokenly, whiskey eyes pleading with you.

Nodding, you leaned in and captured his lips with yours, drinking his taste in eagerly, moaning at how his tongue was desperate against yours,  his teeth nipping at your lip until copper tanged against your tongue and you pulled back, nipping in retaliation against his lips, jaw, throat.

Squeezing his cock at the base, you licked along his neck as he groaned brokenly, “Fuck…sweetheart, _please_.”

Your lips were hot against the curve of his ear as you began pumping your hand along his cock, whispering all the dirty things you had been keeping inside since this thing began.

“Your cock is so hard for me Josh, it’s so thick, I don’t know how it’s gonna fit in my pussy.” He groaned and met your eyes desperately, unable to form words at this point. “I can’t wait to have you inside me, feel your cock stretching me out.”

His groans grew louder, more frequent and desperate, “Ah, ah, ah! Baby, please, please!”

The lines of his throat captivated you, the pure strength in his body making something deep inside you tremble and ache. Biting down on his shoulder as you stroked him, you moaned with him as he came, cum spilling out onto his stomach and your hand.

“Fuck…fuck…Angel…sweetheart…”

Pressing gentle kisses back up his throat, you captured his lips again, softer this time as you finished stroking him, his almost pained moans against your lips as his cock continued to twitch in your hand sending waves of heat through your body.

“I can’t wait to feel you cum inside me,” you whispered against his lips, laughing when he rolled and pinned you under him, his lips hungry and demanding. You could feel the cooling wetness of his cum being pressed into your stomach, but you didn’t even care, not when he was kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, Angel. I’ve never,” he breathed unsteadily, “You were incredible baby.” His eyes glowed with adoration and his hands were tight on you like he didn’t want to let go.

Blushing at the praise and squirming beneath him, you slid your fingers through his thick hair, smiling sheepishly up at him, “Really?”

He nodded and kissed you again, “Really.” His lips curved into a generous smile, “You were amazing.” The kiss you shared was warm, tender and it made something in your chest hurt with how happy you were.

“Can I…can I touch you?” he breathed against your lips, “please?”

You hesitated a moment, unsure if he meant…”H-how?” you asked softly, fingers curling through his thick black hair.

“However you want,” he promised, gaze earnest as he stared down at you, eyes glowing with what you were fairly certain was…no, you couldn’t even think of that. It would hurt too much if it _wasn’t_.

Nodding slowly, you shifted under him, “Will you use your hands and mouth?” you asked hesitantly, still worried he’d refuse, or tell you that you couldn’t come. Heart beating rapidly, you whispered, “Can you make me come?”

Josh groaned softly, hips twitching into yours and to your amazement, you could feel his cock hardening again. “Yea baby, I can make you come.” He leaned in and kissed you gently, tongue twining with yours until you were breathless and dizzy.

“Just relax,” he advised as he began kissing down your throat, lips soft and tongue making you shiver. When his teeth closed around a sliver of flesh and sucked it until it ached, you moaned in surprise, hips rolling into his as the aching pleasure surged between your legs.

“You…shouldn’t leave marks,” you breathed unsteadily, already thinking what the hotel staff and his friend would think if you had a fresh hickey tomorrow.

Lifting his head to pout at you, he held your gaze as he pressed a gentle kiss to your sternum before moving down, lips skimming along the lace of your bra. Your breath came in fast little pants as the anticipation that had built before when you were riding him came rushing back.

When his lips closed hot and wet around your nipple you cried out brokenly, gasping his name and whimpering as he sucked on it until it hurt, just like when he spanked you. “God, god, _ah_!” you whined, whimpering as he moved to the other breast, his fingers replacing his mouth on the other.

His fingers pinched as he sucked and lapped, and with a sobbing gasp of his name, your cunt shuddered. You could feel it pulsing in waves, the ache in your breasts as Josh continued to pay them his loving attention growing deeper. When he finally lifted his head to look at you, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittered with amazement and pride.

“Did you come from that sweetheart?” he crooned, huffing in awe when you nodded uncertainly. Rising up to capture your lips, he groaned softly against your lips, “God, you’re so amazing Angel.” his thick fingers twined through your hair and turned your chin up so he could devour you until you were both breathless and you were more aware of the acute need pulsing between your legs.

“Will you…can you…”

“Yea princess, whatever you want.” He peppered your face with kisses until you were shifting against him needily. With a low chuckle he slid down your body, kissing your hip bones, across your taut abdomen, and down, down, down until he was hovering over your cunt.

Peering up at you, he snapped the band of your underwear, “You want me to take these off?” he asked, waiting patiently until you nodded, breathing unsteadily as he did. When your cunt was bare to him he groaned low in his throat, using his fingers to gently spread you and admire what lay before him. The scent of your arousal grew, making the back of throat clench with need.

His gaze was hooded as he looked back up at you, slightly dazed looking. “I’ve waited so long for this sweetheart; you ready?”

When you nodded and whined _please_ he grinned briefly and then leaned in, mouth covering your cunt so his tongue could slide between your lips, slick and hot and wet. A strangled noise came from your throat at the sensation, so unlike anything else you had ever experienced. It was pressure and heat and when his tongue flicked against your clit, you gasped and moaned, hips writhing down into the sensation.

Humming against you, he dove back in, tongue firm and hot and demanding. When it slid down to tease at your entrance, flicking against the pulsating rim, you gave a strangled cry and gasped, hips shivering at the intensity of the sensations flooding your body. You were overwhelmed by the need, the sweetness of the pleasure flooding your body.

Tears burned in your eyes the pressure within you grew and grew, seemingly without a release valve to ease it. Whimpering, you dug your fingers into Josh’s hair, gasping as he continued to move between your entrance and your clit, never staying at one long enough for you to come.

“Please, please Josh,” you gasped, whining when his mouth left your cunt so he could peer up at you. His umber eyes gleamed with desire, but when he saw the desperation on your face he nodded and pressed a kiss to your hip.

“Okay baby, it’s okay,” he soothed, kissing your belly, up your breasts and then captured your lips. “I’ve got you baby, shhh,” he whispered, lips brushing over yours. Nodding unsteadily, you smiled when he peered down at you for a moment. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he kissed, licked and caressed his way back to your cunt, hovering there for a moment before he was looking back up at you.

“Have you ever fingered yourself?” he asked softly. When you flushed and nodded, he smiled reassuringly, “Good. I don’t want to hurt you sweetheart.” With that, his mouth closed around your clit, sucking and licking at it as two fingers circled your entrance, teasing.

Shifting down into the touch, you whined needily, moaning when his fingers slid in slowly, stretching and spreading you until you were panting at the burn that was quickly turning into unbelievable pleasure. His tongue didn’t stop worshiping you, and when his fingers were all the way in you, he began curling them against your cunt walls, fucking them in hard and fast.

Pleasure crashed into you almost violently; spine arching, voice cracking as you wailed, you gasped and struggled for breath as your cunt pulsated hungrily around his fingers. You could feel something even bigger building, a sensation not unlike when you had to pee and you would have panicked, but you had seen some girls in the videos you had watched…squirting.

On his next inward thrust of his fingers, Josh slid in another, stretching you wide and filling you. Heat rippled out of your cunt, filling your body and blinding you as it turned your mind to ash and your body to fire.

A wail of Josh’s name ripped from your throat as the tension in your body snapped. Wetness flooded your thighs and the sheets beneath you, seemingly without end as Josh groaned and sucked harder on your clit, fingers still fucking into you.

When the sensation became overpowering and almost hurt, you whimpered, gasping his name as yet another wave rushed through you, smaller than before. As your thighs trembled, Josh pulled away, wiping his mouth and hand before he covered your body with his and kissed you senseless.

Body tingling and white noise rushing in your head, you lay limp beneath him, struggling to breath as he whispered words of praise. His hands were gentle on your face as he murmured your name, sounding concerned when you didn’t respond.

“Baby, you okay?”

Nodding, you finally peeled your eyes open and smiled tiredly, “I get why they call it le petit mort,” you joked breathlessly, eliciting a loud, ringing laugh from him and yet another kiss. Dropping a few more to your lips, he smiled and then rolled away, briefs slung low on his hips as he went to your bag and brought it over.

You were slow moving, but pleased to pull off your bra and slip into the oversize sweater that served as your pajamas. Tugging your hair out of its semi updo, you scrubbed your makeup off with a wipe before tossing it away and dropping the bag beside the bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you watched as Josh went to the bathroom and peed, door open.

From the things you had picked up on from rom-coms, something like that spoke of a level of intimacy you didn’t realize was happening in this relationship. Or maybe it was just habit from living alone.

Doubt plucked at you, but you chose to ignore it for the moment, instead basking in the warm vestiges of pleasure making your body soft and pliable. Your eyes were heavy and you had tugged the heavy duvet up by the time Josh emerged, minty breathed and smiling when he slid in next to you.

Flicking off the lights, he pulled you against him, one large hand tangling in your hair as he peered down at you in the grey light. “You okay sweetheart?” he asked softly, tenderly. It made your stomach clench to hear the affection and concern in his voice, erasing all your earlier doubts.

Nodding, you snuggled into him, eyes falling shut as his chin pressed into the top of your head. “Get some rest baby, big day ahead tomorrow,” he whispered.

Biting back words that would change everything, you instead whispered, “Night Josh,” and pressed a kiss to his firm chest.

Chuckling, he pressed his lips to your hair, “Night Angel.” 

 

* * *

“I can’t wait to tell my parents about this! They’re gonna flip!” you exclaimed excitedly, practically bouncing in your seat as you gushed about the interview for what had to be the fifth time. To his credit, Josh remained amused and pleased that you were so happy, easily carrying on the discussion of what your future could hold outside your small town.

You were nearly home, the streets familiar and dull compared to the hustle and bustle of New York City, making something sink in your belly when you realized you would be going back home and to school, where all the daily expectations made you want to run away, hard and fast.

You wondered if Josh would come with you. It was a daydream you tried not to entertain, because the future was so uncertain, even without this relationship. But when you did think about it, you pictured yourself with him in a little house, a cottage maybe, with a yard and trees and a dog that you took for walks and a cat that curled on your lap when you reclined against his chest, listening to him read. You’d be a writer, he’d be a teacher or a librarian or your editor…but none of that mattered because you’d be _together_.

As he walked you to your front door, you paused and looked up at him uneasily. “Will things be different now?” you asked softly. “Will you…still teach me?”

Surprise and hesitation flashed over his face before he sighed and looked contemplative. “Is that what you want?” he asked, just as uneasy.

You pondered it for a moment and then nodded, “I don’t care about being good for anyone else. I’m going to get out of this town and work in New York City and be a famous author. But for you,” you bit your lip and looked up at him through your lashes, “for you I want to be good.”

After a moment he smiled softly, warmth in his eyes as he stared down at you. “My Angel, I’d give you whatever you want,” he assured you.

You stared like idiots at each other, grinning and blushing until he glanced at the front door and sighed, some of the happy washing out of his face. “Time to return you to your parents,” he murmured, sounding less than happy with that.

Glancing over at the empty driveway, you grinned slowly, “They’re out. Want to come in?” you asked lasciviously, brows rising suggestively. Josh peered around for a moment and then nodded, hiding a smile as he followed you into the house.

The moment the door was closed and you had shouted out the names of your parents and siblings, he was dragging you into his arms, lips fusing to yours with a low groan. One large hand palmed your ass, dragging your hips forward so he could press his growing erection into you.

Loud knocking at the door sent you apart, breathing unsteadily. Heart pounding, you stepped over to peer out the peephole, frowning when you saw police on your doorstep. Carefully opening the door, you nodded to the man and woman waiting. They glanced past you to where Father Brolin was standing, a concerned look on his face.

“Miss, are you Angel Rossi?” the female officer asked.

Nodding, you crossed your arms over your chest, a knot of worry lodging in your throat at the looks on their faces. “Why, what’s wrong?” you demanded, looking up when Father Brolin stepped up beside you, a similar look of concern on his handsome face.

“Is something wrong officers?” he asked politely.

The female officer nodded, “Ms. Rossi’s family was in a car accident Father Brolin. Your family is at Good Hope Memorial. We’ll need you to come with us,” she told you, a glimmer of sorrow in her gaze as she held out a hand.

Stepping back, you shook your head, “No, not until you tell me what happened,” you demanded. You could feel it when Father Brolin laid his hand on your shoulder, and it felt like an anchor, holding you in place as fear threatened to wash you out to sea.

The older male officer sighed, “They were coming from the movies, headed to dinner. A drunk driver ran a light and hit the driver’s side. They were then pushed into the intersection where a truck hit them head on.” He hesitated for a moment and the dread in your belly grew, cold and slick and sickening.

“Say it,” you whispered, voice rasping.

He looked pained and swallowed before continuing, “Your parents were killed. You sister is in surgery for a broken leg and is expected to make it through no problems. Your brother has a lot of internal bleeding and well,” he paused, “they aren’t sure.”

Nodding numbly, you stared blankly for a minute before clearing your throat and nodding again.

“We should go then.”

“I’ll drive her,” Father Brolin spoke up hastily, and when you looked up at him the concern in his gaze made your throat clench, bitter bile haunting the back of your throat. Nodding, you grabbed your purse and followed him outside, locking the door behind you.

As you pulled away from the house, you thought how empty and lonely it looked.

Just like you. 


	6. Chapter 6

Damp, cold air bloomed and blustered down the street, kicking up the fallen leaves as a dreary rain pattered down. The chill in the air foretold snow; all the weather men were practically salivating over the possibility.

But you, you were praying it would hold off. Your sister was still recovering; regaining her balance had proven to be difficult for the younger girl, and it broke your heart that she had to suffer through therapy with just you there for support. Your brother was finally out of the hospital; he hadn’t been allowed out for weeks while he recovered from multiple surgeries and a post surgical infection that had very nearly killed him.

It had just been you at your parents’ funerals, both your siblings were too sick and injured to go and the little family you did have were too old to fly out.  Well that wasn’t exactly true; members of the church and community had shown up, expressing their grief and sorrow for your loss, but in the end, it was just you coming home to an empty house at the end of the day.

Father Brolin had tried to insist on coming with you, but at your expressed need to be alone, had acquiesced to your request. There hasn’t been a lot of tears yet, you mostly felt cold and numb, but some part of you knew that they would come eventually. 

* * *

It was three days before Thanksgiving, and you were scribbling notes in English class while trying to plan out a nice meal in your head for your siblings, but you couldn’t concentrate on either. There was too much going on in your head these days, and it was starting to take a toll on you emotionally and physically.

You had suffered long bouts of insomnia and depression in the month since your parents had died, which wasn’t surprising given the legal battles you had become entrenched in. Because you weren’t 18 until April, the courts still considered you a minor despite New York law saying the age of adulthood was 17.

Distant relatives had been called upon to take you in, only for you to find out that they had been in bitter dispute with your parents for years and had no wish to see you or your siblings. With your grandparents too old and sick to take you in, the courts had accepted Father Brolin’s offer to be your temporary guardian until you came of age.

So, for the past month, he had been splitting his time between your home and the rectory, attending to the needs of the church and making sure that you and your siblings were well taken care of.

In some ways it was exciting, having him around so often, but at the end of the day you’d give all the new intimacy with him up in a heartbeat to get your parents back. As much as they had annoyed you and made life decisions for you that you didn’t agree with, they were still your parents and they had loved you.

Father Brolin tried to do the same; he listened when you talked about school and your future, helped with homework, gave advice, listened to your siblings’ fears and always made sure there was good home cooked food in the house.

But as much as it was all still the same, it was also very different.

Your brother and sister suffered from flashbacks, nightmares and panic attacks that you didn’t know how to ease when your own mind was a mess. Nearly every night since they had come home they ended up in your bed, despite it being far too small for all three of you.

And yet there was no question that none of you were ready to go into your parents’ room and use the enormous king bed that would have been more comfortable for all of you. Instead, you would wait till they were back asleep and when they didn’t do more than snore when you shifted, you would get out of bed and sneak out to the living room where Father Brolin was staying.

The pullout couch was small and uncomfortable, but he had yet to complain, and when you slid into bed with him and buried your face into his chest, there weren’t many objections he could form. His large hands would carefully hold you, as though he was afraid you would shatter under the slightest touch, but you wouldn’t, _didn’t_.

It wasn’t some internal strength that kept you from breaking down so much as the very present knowledge that if you did, you and your siblings would be placed in the foster care and likely split up. If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that you couldn’t let that happen.

So each morning you would rise before the dawn, make breakfast, pack lunches, make sure backpacks were ready and then begin to rouse your siblings for another day. It was exhausting and at times you resented them for living and needing you to take care of them, but you never _ever_ voiced these thoughts aloud.

You knew rationally that it wasn’t fair to feel that way, but you also knew that it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given what you knew about grief and loss from your community college psych course you had taken last year. Living most days in autopilot got you through them, but it didn’t make them any easier.

After school you picked up your siblings, took them to the store with you, and bought everything you’d need for Thanksgiving. Father Brolin would be meeting you back at the house soon, once he was finished at the school and the parish. You saw the looks people gave you in the store; pitying and sad, and it made you want to scream.

Instead of doing that though, you smiled politely, paid for the food and hurried home. Your brother and sister argued the whole way, fighting over something you didn’t care about, and more than anything you wished for silence. Thankfully, dinner was a quiet affair, and when you were done, they disappeared into their rooms.

Turning on some soft classical music, you zoned out as you began washing dishes, struggling under the despair that felt like it was always just breaths away from crushing you. The next song in the queue started and your throat closed as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. The song playing had been your mother’s favorite; she would play it while she drove you to school, to get groceries, while she cleaned…she had played it so often you would groan playfully when it came on, pretending to hate it, when really it was one of your favorites too.

As [_Primavera_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F0fzw4BBD5FRJtPuQbUUKzJ%3Fsi%3DEmsJxiA_TfCgQt4Rtx6uMA&t=MDQ1Zjg1NjQ2MGE3OTMxMmEwY2ViMGRjOWQxNzQ5MzhlOTYyOTJiMSw1TXNkZkNtMg%3D%3D&b=t%3ARb6SJdEdcRjOuKOCVqFzDw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthebuckybrigade.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F179307935586%2Funholy-part-six&m=1)by Ludovico Einaudi played, you struggled to breathe, tears burning in your eyes as your hands laid still in the scalding dishwater. A rushing sound began to fill your ears and your heart thumped so hard in your chest it felt like it would rip right through your ribs. A part of you wished it would, so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, so it would all just stop hurting.

But it seemed the laws of physics and biology were determined to work against you, because no matter how awfully it hurt, you persisted in breathing, living, existing.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you were suddenly aware of the fact that you were crying–sobbing actually–and then there were strong arms winding around you, pulling you to press into a firm chest and the familiar scent of incense and woody cologne filled your nose.

Clinging desperately to the back of his sweater, you sobbed uncontrollably, gasping for breath, chest heaving painfully.

“Shh, baby, I’m here, just breathe, come on Angel, breathe,” he crooned, large hands rubbing over your spine in slow, soothing circles. If anything, his soft, gentle tone and velvety voice only made you cry harder. You were barely breathing now, the pressure in your chest felt like it was wrapped in a vice, and your head was beginning to spin under the force of your sobs.

Father Brolin’s heart skipped with fear at the state you were in, and without second thought he swept you into his arms and carried you down the hall and into your bedroom, locking it behind him. Seating himself against your headboard, he held you in his lap, tucked your head beneath his chin and whispered in your ear softly.

“Sweetheart, you have to breathe. Angel, I need you to listen to me now,” he murmured, voice commanding. Some instinct in you knew to listen when he used that voice, and even through your tears and heaving gasps, you payed attention. “Listen to my breathing baby, breathe as I do,” he ordered, taking slow even breaths.

Nearly thirty minutes passed in which you hiccoughed, gasped and sobbed, struggling to slow your breathing till it was somewhere close to normal. The entire time Father Brolin murmured softly, sweetly, hands running over your back and hair, breathing slow and steady to guide you.

When you were doing no more than sniffling and breathing a little unsteadily, Father Brolin spoke. “Angel, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but perhaps, if you do, it would help.” You stiffened against him and he sighed, “Baby, if you never talk about it, it can’t ever get any better. Please, baby, talk to me,” he pled.

Pulling away from him, you shook your head and shed his hands, stumbling as you stood up, warding him off with a hand as you stepped back. “I don’t want to talk,” you whispered brokenly, stepping back away from him. His hands reached out towards you as he too rose from the bed, concern lining his face so deeply it made him look years older.

“Please, baby, tell me how to help you,” he pled, eyes warm with concern.

Shaking your head fitfully, you angrily brushed away tears and took further steps back when he moved towards you. “No, just, please, leave me alone!” Your voice quavered as you lifted a hand to keep him back, “Please, Josh, just, don’t,” you whispered, eyes filling with tears once more.

He flinched back at your tone, eyes soft with hurt.

“I just want to help you,” he murmured, sounding deeply saddened by your rejection of him. “What do you need?” he asked, “what can I do for you?”

His persistence annoyed you, and without thinking, you snapped. “You can bring back my dead parents, how about that?”

Josh’s face paled and his shoulders twitched in a flinch as his eyes darkened with regret and sorrow. “Angel…”

“No, no, _don’t_ , just…don’t,” you stammered, shaking your head as you backed away. “If we hadn’t gone away, if you hadn’t taken me away, they’d be alive!” you ranted, voice rising with each moment. “If I had been here, they wouldn’t be dead!” You were shaking with the force of your grief, rage at him and you and them tangling until you felt dizzy and sick.

Lurching away, you pushed his hand away when he tried to stop you, “Just go! Go!” you shouted, “I don’t want you here!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks and you glared at him as he stared at you, shoulders low and defeated, his broken heart visible beneath the soft material of his sweater.

“Ok Angel,” he murmured, nodding slowly, as though it hurt him to speak, “whatever you want baby.”

The reminder of his promise only made you angrier and you lunged forward, screaming incoherently at him as you slapped and pushed at him until he turned and walked out, defeat in every line of his body.

When the front door slammed shut, you fell to your knees and then slumped to the floor, face pressing into the rough carpeting, your hands clawing into the fabric as you screamed your agony out, tears blinding you. 

* * *

Thanksgiving was a quiet affair, Father Brolin hadn’t come back and hadn’t contacted you since you had shouted him out of the house. Your siblings ate quickly before retreating to their rooms, leaving you alone with a pan of mac and cheese and a bottle of wine.

Halfway through the pan your stomach felt full to bursting so you set it aside and continued drinking from the bottle in slow pulls. When your head was dizzy and fuzzy, you set it aside and slumped down into the pillows, eyes hooded half shut as Hallmark played holiday movies.

Guilt and grief and exhaustion weighed heavily on your soul and as you fell asleep, tears leaked out slowly, wetting the pillow beneath your cheek.

* * *

Bass thumped heavily in your bones as you swayed and danced, sweat shining on your skin from hours of dancing and the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs you had consumed.

You had never been a party girl, had never been interested in drinking or doing drugs or even having sex, but things, they had changed.

The grief of your loss bled into everything, tainting and ruining it. _This_ though, this _magical_ concoction of ecstasy and vodka, it chased away all the darkness and grief and made the light sparkle on your skin, the music caress your lungs, _joy_ fill your soul once more.

When you finally stumbled out of the warehouse where the rave had been going since sundown, you were mildly surprised to see it was almost dawn. Your head felt fuzzy and there was a ringing in your ears as you leaned against the cold brick wall, watching as snow drifted out of the sky. A car turned into the alley and distantly you thought maybe you had seen it before, but you were too distracted by the way the lights gleamed on the snow like diamonds.

When it came to a halt in front of you, you watched curiously as a man rose from the vehicle and stood in the shadows for a moment before he stepped forward and your heart skipped a beat.

“Josh?”

His brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you, dressed in little more than fabric strategically covering your breasts and ass. Fury and concern pumped through his veins and before he could think out his actions he strode across the alley and grabbed your bare arm, yanking you toward the car.

“Let me _go_!” you shrieked, struggling against his grip furiously.

“Get in the damn car Angel!”

Digging in your heels was a waste, given the enormous size difference between you and Father Brolin, but he heeded your protest and you skidded to a halt, glaring up at him.

“What the hell?!” you demanded, arms crossing under your breasts, pushing them up distractingly. Father Brolin stared at them for a split second before stepping closer to glare down at you.

“How did you find me?”

“An app,” he replied sharply, “what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he demanded waving his hand towards the building where the thumping of the bass and the stench of weed permeated the air.

“Enjoying myself, why, is that not allowed?” you demanded, heat building beneath your skin at how he was looming over you. “Are you gonna _punish me_?” you taunted, voice hoarse from shouting over the loud music for hours. At the heated look in his eye you felt breathy, nervously excited and your pulse skipped frenetically.

In one large step he was pushing you against the cold brick wall, firm body pressing into yours so you could feel the heat of him seeping into you. His eyes were dark, angry and hot. You could feel each deep inhale he took, the firm muscles in his torso pinning you in place.

“Is that what you want baby? You want me to punish you?” he growled, voice low and full of promise. Your body arched into his instinctively as you fought back a moan, body responding to his promises, hungry for pleasure from the ecstasy you had taken. His gaze ran over your body and if anything, grew darker, hungrier.

“I should put you over my knee and turn your ass red for dressing like that,” he murmured, a large hand slipping from beside your head on the wall to reach down and grab your barely covered hip. You fought a whimper and it came out choked and needy sounding. “Is that what you want? You want me to spank you little one?”

You broke, nodding enthusiastically, and a wicked smirk crossed his lips.

“Then get in the car.”

You hurried to obey, tucking yourself into the seat and shivering when the cold leather pressed into your bare skin. Father Brolin noticed of course and turned up the heat, shaking his head ruefully at your skimpy attire.

“I can’t believe you went out like that in this weather Angel. You could have gotten sick or hurt.”

His gaze flicked to you, running over the swaths of exposed skin, heat pulsing in his gut. “Did anyone touch you?” he asked softly, voice dangerous.

Smirking a little at him was probably unwise, but the alcohol and ecstasy and residual anger made you want to needle him. “Lots of people did,” you told him, biting your lip when he growled and his hands tightened on the wheel till his knuckles were white.

The wheel jerked under his hand and the car was sliding into an even darker alley than the one he had just picked you up in and before you knew it, the engine was dying and ticking quietly as the car cooled in the icy air.

Father Brolin day for a moment before speaking, voice low and commanding. “Get in the backseat Angel.”

You debated refusing and instead smirked at him, angling your body towards him, “Why?” you asked, voice soft and innocent in a way you both knew was a lie.

His large hand lashed out and wrapped around your throat, the pressure making your pulse thrum harder in your chest and between your legs. His eyes were intense as he shifted his hand up so his thumb could press against your chin and lift your face towards his.

You didn’t realize he had leaned over till his lips were hovering over yours, eyes dark and burning into yours.

“Because I said so little one. If you want to be mine, you have to be _all_ mine.”

A shiver ran down your spine, not from the icy air slowly permeating the interior of the car, but from the aching desire within you for him to make you _all_ his.

Nodding spastically, you undid your belt and slid from the passenger side of the car before hurrying into the back. Father Brolin met you in the back and without saying anything, wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and pulled you down across his lap.

He stared down at the tiny swaths of fabric covering your body, hot, heady desire rushing through his veins. You’d kill him one day, of that he was certain. But today, today he’d make sure you knew that you were _his_.

Shoving up the fabric barely covering your ass, he hummed softly at the sight of your bare skin. You had on absolutely nothing under the material and he could already see the wetness gleaming on your cunt.

When you mewled and ground your hips into him, Father Brolin frowned and slapped your ass, enjoying the sight of it pinkening and bouncing. Your moan spurred him and without giving you any instructions on counting or saying thank you, he began.

By the time he had reached twenty he had to switch hands. You were moaning and rolling your hips back to chase his hand, desperately grinding down to get friction.

At thirty you were gasping his name, throat dry from your uneven breathing and making high pitched needy noises that went straight to his cock.

At forty your ass was a deep red, bruising already in some places and tears streamed down your face as your cunt pulsed with unsatiated need.

He paused, “That’s it baby,” he whispered hoarsely, prepared to be done, but you cried out, shaking your head in refutation.

“ _More_ ,” you sobbed, aching deep within your body for the pain to continue; you felt alive, born again through the fire of it, and you wanted _more_.

Father Brolin’s chest heaved, emotion raging through him at your demand and then complied. He laid down the last of the blows, incredulous that you had managed to take fifty, cock harder than it had ever been. You sobbed, thighs trembling and wet as you danced along the edge of release, panting and moaning his name.

Father Brolin’s hand trembled where it rested against the small of your back, head tipped back against the soft material of the seat as he tried to steady his breathing. He could feel you trembling and gasping against him, shaking with need, and his heart soared at the notion that you had trusted him to bring you to this place physically and emotionally.

The days he had spent without you were hollow and dark, lonelier than he had been in a very long time. It had been spent in a haze of whiskey, contemplating the future he wanted, wondering just how achievable it was.

Happily ever after for a priest falling in love with one of his students didn’t seem likely. At his darkest moment he had contemplated leaving town, leaving you behind so he wouldn’t be accused of anything illegal should the town ever find out. But then he thought of the way you felt in his arms, how sweetly you smiled at him, and how deeply he cared for you and the idea of ever going, ever leaving you behind, it simply wasn’t fathomable.

Consequences be damned.

As Father Brolin struggled to compose himself you wiped the tears from your face and took steadying breaths, overwhelmed by the force of your emotions and the need aching within you.

Father Brolin had never given you that many spanks before; you had never asked for more, but today, you _needed_ it.

You had needed to externalize the pain that made your heart feel as though it would shatter, destroy the weakness that made you feel as if you’d never be strong again, embrace the loss you had suffered and walk through the darkness knowing there was light on the other side.

Knowing you could endure this dizzying mix of pleasure and pain made you feel like Wonder Woman, and you felt as though the tears you had shed had cleansed you and the strength you had found had sunk into your bones and turned them to steel.

It occurred to you then that what you wanted now was to express that feeling, that strength and lightness warming your insides, to Father Brolin.

Gathering your strength into your still shaking limbs, you slid from his lap and scooted to your knees, peering up at him as he looked at you in surprise. “Baby?”

His brows furrowed in question and you smiled softly, hands on his knees smoothing up the rough fabric of his jeans till they were resting near the tent his cock had created.

“I wanna thank you,” you whispered, “for making me feel again. For showing me my own strength.”

He looked dazed, a little confused and a lot aroused.

Leaning up, you unbuckled his belt, pulled down the zipper, and then slid his cock out from the confines of his clothing. Breath hissing from between clenched teeth, he watched as you grasped him firmly, stroking down and rubbing your thumb along his swollen, sensitive tip.

A groan shuddered out of his chest as you trailed your nail painfully slow around the head, both of you watching as cum pulsed out in time with his unsteady breaths. When his thighs began to tremble under the intense pleasure that skirted deviantly along the line of pain, you leaned up and wrapped your lips around the head, tongue flicking against him relentlessly.

Father Brolin cried out, one hand slapping up against the roof of the car, nails digging in to the material as he groaned. His other hand crushed the material of the seat, teeth gritted as he exhaled sharply from his nose.

He watched as you took him deeper, mouth wide around him as your hand pumped his shaft, a mix of cum and spit lubricating your way. Your eyes lifted to meet his as you took him even further, the head of his cock teasing the back of your throat.

You hadn’t done this before but you had read a large swath of articles and reddit comments, trying to make sure when it did happen you wouldn’t choke.

The biggest tip you had found had been to relax, and imagine you were at the dentist, opening wide and breathing from your nose.

It wasn’t comfortable, but _fuck_ the look on Father Brolin’s face and the noises he was making…totally worth the discomfort.

The man in question was grunting, groaning your name, a twisted look on his face as his hips jutted up just a little.

“Baby, baby, I’m close,” he warned, and with an enthusiastic hum, you went to town. One hand cradled his sac, rolling his balls between your fingers while the other found that small spot that yet more redditors had suggested rubbing on while giving a blow job.

Judging by the high pitched and broken noise ripped from his throat, you had found it. Sucking eagerly, you rubbed harder and gave a happy moan of pleasure when his hand left the seat and buried itself in your hair.

“Fuck! Baby, oh fuck your mouth…fuck I’m gonna—”

His cursing cut off with a growling sound as he came, cock pulsing and twitching in your mouth as his cum spurted down your throat. Slowly you worked your mouth till just the tip of his cock rested on your tongue and began licking at the slit while you continued rubbing at his perineum.

Father Brolin _whined_ and writhed beneath you, gasping your name as his fingers tightened in your hair and his cock twitched anew, pulsing with yet more cum.

When his entire body was shaking and his breaths came in great heaving gasps, you slowed, pulling back to lick up and down his shaft, cleaning away any residual mess.

Laying your cheek against his thigh, you peered up at him a little smugly, watching the way his long dark lashes fluttered against his tanned skin. You wished you were back in that hotel room in New York City so you could press your lips to every inch of his skin, memorize the muscles and moles and scars and skin.

When his eyes finally opened to find you, a tired smile curled his lips. With the hand still tangled in your hair, he drew you up between his thighs and sought your lips hungrily. He moaned when your tongue traced his, offering him a lingering taste of himself.

“Fuck baby, that was…” he didn’t have the words to properly express himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yea?” you asked shyly; you hadn’t known if it would work, but based on the _effusive_ reaction, it seemed it had.

Lips curling into a smile, he nodded and kissed you again, “Yea sweetheart. You were incredible,” he whispered against your lips. When you shivered, this time from the cold, he frowned and sat back, wiggled out of his coat and then dropped it around your shoulders.

The familiar scent of _him_ flooded your nose and you inhaled happily, scooting up and into his lap with a wince; your ass was throbbing now, and you knew without a doubt you’d be feeling it worse later.

Still though, you couldn’t mind, not when your head felt clear for the first time in weeks and your body was humming with pleasure. You had missed this, you realized, misses having his hands on you, missed the control.

Tucking your head into his shoulder, you hummed contentedly and wiggled into him, smirking a little when he made a soft noise at the press of your ass down into his jeans. His large hands found your waist and the back of your head, fingers knitting through your hair to scrape his nails against your scalp gently.

If you could have purred, you would have. Eyes falling shut, you nuzzled into his throat so you could inhale his warm scent on each breath. You would have stayed that way, but eventually the cold became too much for both of you and you were forced back to your original seats—though you remained wrapped in Father Brolin’s jacket.

By the time you made it back to the house, the rising sun had turned the sky a fiery red. Father Brolin ushered you into the house and you were silently grateful that your siblings had stayed the night with friends, enjoying a little Black Friday sleepover that had left you all alone.

Father Brolin followed you down the hallway and leaned against your bedroom doorway, watching as you undressed and pulled out soft comfy clothes to change into.

“I’m going to take a bath,” you told him, wrapping your robe around you. “Will you, I mean, would you join me?” you asked hesitantly. He looked surprised for a moment and ran a hand over his mouth, pondering the request.

“I don’t know that we’d both fit sweetheart,” he replied with a faint smile and a raised brow.

Nodding, you pointed down the hall, “The one in my parents’ room is a jacuzzi tub,” you told him, voice wavering only a little.

He studied you for a minute longer and then nodded. When you stepped past him, his fingers tangled with yours and you glanced up in surprise before smiling and leading him down the hall and into the dark of the unused room.

It smelled faintly like dust and you thought that maybe when your siblings came back you could talk to them about cleaning it. Not give anything away, of course, just, tidy up.

The idea went on the back burner as you turned on the tub and tossed in your favorite honeysuckle and orange blossom bath bomb to fizz and froth as the tub filled. Your mother had this one indulgence; a large tub, lots of candles and good wine.

Perhaps it was a little twisted to be enjoying this with Father Brolin, but you were too tired and filled with longing to mind much. All you wanted was to feel his wet, naked skin pressed to yours, to be warm and safe in his arms.

After lighting the candles and stopping the flow of water, you hung your robe on the door, tied up your hair and stepped delicately into the steaming water. Father Brolin watched as you sank back, eyes falling shut in delight. A tremor ran through his body, shaking him to the core when he realized that the thing making his heart ache when he looked at you was love.

He had fought it, prayed on it, and ignored it, but much like the air in his lungs, it could not be denied. He hurried out of his clothes and watched as your eyes opened, trailing over his skin so intently he could feel the ghost of your hands on him once more.

You leaned forward to make room for him, smiling over your shoulder with a pert little wrinkle to your nose and his stomach swooped as he grinned back and leaned in to kiss you, softly, sweetly.

His thick arms wrapped around your torso, wet fingers sliding against slick skin as he pulled you back against his broad shoulders. He didn’t let your lips go, instead, he kissed you slowly, deeply, until you were both breathless and flushed.

Sweat pearled on your brow and condensation fogged the mirrors; everything was soft and warm and it felt as though a bubble had formed around the room, keeping you safe.

“Josh?”

“Hmm?”

Your lips pressed into the underside of his jaw softly.

“I love you.”

He stilled, and then his lips found your forehead, firm and warm.

“I love you too baby.”

Smiling joyfully, you pressed more kisses to his jaw and throat, fingers twining around his forearms where they wrapped around your chest. You could feel his heart beating unsteadily and sure enough, yours thumped along too.

Twisting, you slid around and sent the water sloshing against the sides of the tub as you slid into his lap, arms winding around his shoulders so your fingers could toy with his hair. Josh’s eyes grew hooded, dark and glazed with pleasure as your nails scraped over his scalp gently, again and again.

Leaning in to press your chest against his, you sought his lips, tracing the full bottom one with your tongue for a moment before you nipped it and drew him in deeper.

You could feel it when his hands wrapped around your waist, long fingers splaying over your back, sliding up along the notches of your spine slowly. Tendrils of your hair lay limply against your neck, small curls teased out by the humid air in the room. His touch felt like silk; languid and purposeful as he hummed softly into your kiss, heat building in his belly slowly.

His hands trailed slowly over you; resting on the nape of your neck for a moment, then sliding down to cup your hip, thumb stroking gently over the bone over and over again. It sent shivers over your skin and you smiled against his lips before trailing away, down his throat and over to the divot where his pulse thrummed beneath his skin.

The salty taste of his skin flooded your tongue, leaving you hungry for more. Teeth bared against his skin, you sucked a mark onto his throat, heat flooding you as he groaned. You could feel his cock twitching beneath you, filling slowly and pressing against your ass.

Trailing your tongue over his skin, you sucked and nipped until he was panting and your hips were rolling into each other, desperately seeking friction. Mouth pressing to his ear, you moaned softly and nipped at the delicate skin.

“Fuck me, please Josh, I want you inside me,” you whispered, body trembling with need.

He groaned and shook his head, “Baby, we can’t, you gotta be 18,” he murmured, turning his head so he could meet your eyes. You could see the regret and lust waging war in them and decided to push; you didn’t want to see him looking like that, you only wanted love and desire shining from those onyx depths.

Shifting, you reached down and slid his cock between your legs, dragging it through your pussy lips slowly so he groaned and rolled his hips, hands tightening on your hips.

Slowly, you rode him, grinding your cunt down into him, dragging along his length, breasts brushing his firm chest with each roll of your hips.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, throat taut as he leaned his head back against the rim of the tub to watch you through hooded eyes.

Moaning softly, you peered at him through your lashes, “Come on Josh, please, I want your cock inside me,” you murmured, pouting at him.

Huffing out a laugh, he groaned as you ground down into him harder. “Baby, you need to be on birth control first,” he chided, “and 18,” he tacked on.

“I’m of legal consenting age,” you refuted a little breathlessly, “and I already have an IUD,” you told him, smirking when he looked stunned and aroused all at the same time. Leaning in until your pert breasts were pushed against his chest and his cock was pressing to your clit, you nipped at his jaw, throat and ear, “Make love to me Josh, please,” you whispered.

_Make love to me_

Josh groaned softly, unsure if it was those words or a weakness in himself that hadn’t been exploited until he met you, but there was no way he could deny you. Not when he was aching to be inside you, making love to you. He wrapped his fingers through your hair, lifting your face to tangle your tongues together. Your hips started their relentless rolling again and he groaned, resolve snapping. 

“Okay baby, okay,” he agreed breathlessly.

“Okay.” 


	7. Chapter 7

With an eager little noise, you kissed him breathlessly, already arching to try and take him in. Josh stopped you with a firm hand at your hip, earning him an annoyed glare. Chuckling softly he rubbed his thumb over your belly, shaking his head.

“Baby, you haven’t had more than my fingers inside you, you gotta go slow,” he explained.

Pouting, you pressed your fingers into his chest, nails biting at the skin, “But I want you inside me,” you whined.

A choked noise burst past his lips and he nodded, sputtering out a laugh, “I know baby, I want to be inside you too, but we’re gonna go slow. You’ll never have a first time again, and I plan on ruining you for anyone else,” he explained, voice low and full of promise.

A shiver ran over your spine and you pressed your hips down into his, “I don’t want anyone else Josh, just you.”

Tilting his head back to rest on the rim of the tub, he looked at you with some unknown emotion, “Cuz you’re mine?” he prodded.

Nodding, you leaned down and kissed him, fingers twining through his damp hair. “And you’re mine,” you reminded him.

A low noise of pleasure rumbled out of his chest and he wrapped his arms around you, pinning you to him so he could kiss you. He kissed you for so long you soon lost the impatience you had felt earlier; it was replaced instead with a languid heat in your veins that burned softly as your tongues twined together and his large hands pressed you into him.

Just when you thought he might have changed his mind about having sex with you, one of his hands slid from your hip, up your slick torso, and onto your breast. His long fingers caressed the hot skin, thumb stroking over the nipple until it was pert and aching.

Moaning breathlessly, you arched into the touch and gasped as he kissed down your neck, leaving marks you knew were a bad idea, but really couldn’t care about right now.

His thumb and forefinger pinched your nipple, the sharp twang of heat and pain making your hips roll and your cunt pulse. When his lips found the other unattended breast, you whined softly, nails digging into his scalp. He sucked and nipped at it until it was red, puffy and aching from the stimulation.

Soft little noises fell from your lips as he switched sides, the heat in your belly growing into a hot flame that licked through your cunt and had you shivering with need.

“Ah! Josh, ah, ah, _please_ ,” you moaned, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you tried to keep your cries quiet. Your hips ground down into his, desperate for friction, cunt aching with need.

“Not yet sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin, tongue delicately flicking against your nipple. Your body throbbed with need, heat coalescing in your core like a sun before it went supernova. It burned and swelled, filling you till you felt like you’d scream if there wasn’t some kind of relief.

Josh sucked particularly hard as his fingers pinched your nipple, and the sweet pain of it ripped through you, sending pulses through your cunt in an orgasm that only left you wanting more.

As you were panting and writhing against him, Josh ran a hand down you belly and between your legs, encouraging you to sit up a little so he could shift you and slide two fingers into your cunt. Shivering as they spread you, you moaned when he began rubbing them against that spot inside you that made your legs go weak and your eyes roll back in your head.

“ _Fuck_ , ah, ah, Jesus, fuck… _Josh_!”

He chuckled against your throat where he had been laying kisses as he fingered you. “What a dirty mouth baby,” he whispered, “you gonna come?”

Shaking your head, you whined softly. “Need you to touch me,” you gasped, hips rolling as you rode his fingers.

“Am touching you baby,” he teased, once again taking your nipple between his teeth.

Groaning in frustration, you shook your head, “My clit, please Josh, please!”

Sucking hard on the flesh between his teeth, Josh complied and began rubbing his thumb back and forth, over your clit, the pleasure sharp and sweet. Spine arching, you cried out, nails scraping over his shoulder as your thighs shook. When he pressed in another finger you whined and shivered, cries growing louder as his hands and lips and teeth took you apart.

You felt full, but knew his cock would be even better and it made you almost impatient with what he was doing now, despite your need to cum. You rocked harder on his fingers, chest heaving as he switched between breasts, thumb stroking your clit faster, harder.

You were making little _uhn uhn uhn_ noises as his fingers fucked into you, hips twitching with your impending release when he pressed harder on your clit and you felt it crest within you.

Body arching, you gasped loudly, sobbing as pleasure ripped through you. Thighs trembling, your voice grew high and desperate as it went on and on and on.

_AH AH AH_

“That’s it sweetheart, lemme hear you moan,” Josh growled, fingers still deep inside you as your cunt pulsed around them hungrily. The familiar sensation of your release rushing out made your face flush; it felt dirty, doing it like this, but you loved it.

Josh leaned up and captured your lips with his as his fingers slowed, prolonging the release. When you were shuddering against him, weakly moaning into his mouth as his fingers slipped from within you, he devoured you.

Breathless and high on sweet release, you clung to him when he slid an arm beneath your ass and stood, holding you against him as water sluiced off your bodies. Carefully he stepped out of the tub and opened the door, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

You shivered as your overheated skin was caressed by the cool air and clung to him tighter, a soft noise of protest making him chuckle.

“Hold on sweetheart, almost there,” he assured you.

Laying you down on your bed, his body pressed into yours, trapping you against the mattress. Strong forearms bracketed your head as his lips lightly caressed yours, hips aligning so his cock could slide against your soaked pussy lips.

It took every ounce of his restraint not to dive right in and thrust into you, but he wanted one thing before he did. Pressing another kiss to your lips, he pulled away and slid down your body, kissing over you slowly until he was crouched between your legs, breath hot on your cunt.

You wiggled in anticipation; the last time you had done this had been in the hotel, and it had blown your mind then, so you were excited for more of the same. He grinned up at you, nipping at your thigh before he dove in, tongue swiping up through your folds and flicking against your clit. A faint whine came from you as Josh ate you out.

And that’s what he was doing; he would suck your lips between his teeth, sucking on them until they felt like they were throbbing. His tongue slid between them until you were slick and hot and he was groaning at the taste and sensation. When you were begging for more, his tongue slid out to flick at the rim of your cunt, teasing an entry that he never quite gave.

“Fuck baby, you taste so good,” he growled before his tongue plunged into you, leaving you gasping and seeing stars.

Your cunt fluttered around him, grasping at his tongue as he thrust and flicked it into you. His fingers spread your cunt open so he could feast on it further, leaving you feeling exposed and wanton. It was loud in the silence of the house; wet and filthy sounding in a way that made a flush rise on your cheeks.

Hungry growls came from Josh’s throat and his fingers dug into your thighs as you panted and whined, desperate for him to touch your clit again. When you were whining his name in an almost unbroken moan, he shifted up and closed his lips around your clit and sucked.

“Josh!”

You cried out sharply at the ache of pleasure that built rapidly under the assault of his tongue. You could feel your clit throbbing and burning, the sensation making you gasp for air with each pulse it gave between his lips.

_Ah ah ah_

Your cries grew louder as Josh slid his fingers back inside you, fucking hard and fast against that spot within you that made heat crawl up your spine and flare behind your eyes. Your nails cut into his scalp as you fisted his hair in one hand, the other slapping against the mattress as you sobbed and begged, the pleasure nearly overwhelming.

You could feel your release building, hot and hard and fast.

It crested and flashed like a nuclear blast behind your eyes, blinding you as your throat dried out and your thighs shook uncontrollably. Shrieking brokenly, you sobbed as it ripped through you. You could feel a gush of hot wetness flood your thighs and Josh’s face and distantly you heard him moan loudly.

His tongue didn’t relent for a long time, you were nearly sobbing real tears when he did. Josh crawled back up your body at your insistent tugging on his hair, weak broken moans of his name on your lips as you found his in a desperate kiss. He groaned as your tongue invaded his mouth, seeking out the taste of yourself.

“God baby, you taste like sunshine,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

 

You weren’t the only one trembling; you could feel the shivers running down his back as you held him close. His breathing was unsteady and his lips quivered as he smiled down at you.

“I love you so much baby,” he whispered, meeting your lips in a tender kiss.

You nodded eagerly, “Love you too,” you gasped, rolling your hips into his needily.

He didn’t have a condom, hadn’t thought he would need one for a few more months because, really, he had been going to wait till you were 18. Honestly. But then, you had been pushing and pulling him past his reservations for months, why should now be any different?

Meeting your dazed gaze, he smiled softly, fondly. “You ready baby?” Nodding enthusiastically, you surged up to kiss him.

You could feel it when his hips rolled back, the swollen head of his cock pressed into your opening, and slowly, he pushed in. Gasping in his ear, your head fell back, neck arching as stars danced before your eyes.

You hadn’t known it would feel like this; hot and hard and thick—spreading you out and filling you so differently than his fingers had. It felt like he always should have been there, inside you.

Whimpering at the overwhelming sensation and emotion, you clutched at his back, adding more marks to the skin. He didn’t mind though, because they marked him as _yours_. The thought made him twitch within you and he surged forward, eager to lay claim to what was _his_.

“Uhhhn! J-Josh!”

“You okay baby?”

He peered down at you, gut tight with need as he slowed down, worried he had hurt you.

Nodding frantically, you lifted your hips, moaning as he slid a little deeper. “Oh _god_! I-I’m good, just,” you shook your head and bit your lip, “move, god, please, _move_ ,” you pled.

With this confirmation, Josh groaned and surged forward, plunging into you until his balls were pressed against your ass. Dropping his head to your shoulder he panted, grinding his cock into you, wishing he could stay like this forever.

Whimpering at the sensation, you lifted your hips and rolled, gasping at the way his cock felt pressing into you, stretching out your cunt. His lips found yours in a sloppy kiss and as his tongue met yours, he rolled his hips, pulling almost all the way out before he snapped back in.

Your shout was muffled by his mouth, but your moan vibrated in your throat, growing louder as he continued in the same way, thrusting into you slowly, deeply.

Josh silently prayed the rosary, focused on taking this slow, just like he had promised. He wanted to make you come and come and come until your body was wrung out, limp and satiated. He wanted to feel your cunt pulse around his cock, see how it stretched you open, hear how wet you were as he took you harder.

 _Lead us not into temptation, **fuck it’s too late for that**_ he thought wryly, hips grinding into yours as you moaned and met his thrusts eagerly. _But deliver us from evil,_ **_if this is evil, I don’t ever wanna be good_**. _Amen_.

He shifted, moving so he could meet your gaze as he thrust, pride filling him at the way you moaned and voiced your pleasure. He had been dreaming of this for far longer than was appropriate, and now that it was here, it was destroying those dreams.

Your fingers dug into his back and twined through his hair, holding on as he kept to his slow pace, the heavy weight of his cock sliding into you filling your gut with fire. You wanted it harder, faster, deeper. You wanted to scream with how good it was, cry at how badly you needed more, and beg for it never to end.

As it was, you were moaning his name, brokenly begging for just that— _harder, please! F-faster! **God**! Deeper, go deeper!_

But for all your pleading, he didn’t relent.

Josh pulled back, sitting onto his haunches so he could pull your legs securely around his waist and start thrusting into you harder. He maintained that slow, torturous pace, but his thrusts were jarring now, and with each one you moaned loudly.

Fingers dancing up your skin, he found the tender skin of your breasts and began teasing once more. A loud shuddering whine ripped from your throat at how sensitive your nipples were, how it hurt and ached and sent waves of sparkling pain through you. He didn’t relent though, no, he only switched breasts and continued.

You distantly thought that it was good your siblings were gone because your cries were only growing louder and more desperate. The sound of his cock sliding into you was loud, wet. It made you writhe in shame and delight—wishing you could see how soaked you were and how his cock was moving within you, spreading you.

The continued attention to your breasts made fire crawl up your spine and you gasped and shook, feeling that edge creep closer.

“Hnnn…I’m gonna…gonna come,” you whined, arching into Josh’s touch and thrust, even as your instincts screamed for the assail of your nerves to end. You needed it, burned for it, _begged_ for it.

“Please, Josh, I need…can I come?”

He growled and gave your nipple a particularly hard pinch, sending you careening over before he had a chance to answer. Groaning louder as your cunt gripped him in pulsing waves, he watched your face as it twisted in pleasure.

Desperately praying, he ignored the stimulation and kept thrusting, moving harder, faster now. Your cunt made wet noises as he did, and something in his gut twisted in pleasure at that. _He_ was making you wet, soaking your thighs and coating his cock with slick, and _only_ he would ever do it again.

“Fuck! Oh _god_! Josh!”

You whined and bucked into him, pulse throbbing in your clit, begging for his attention. He didn’t relent though, his hands moving from your breasts to your hips so he could thrust harder, watching as your breasts bounced in time with his cock.

Peeling your eyes open you met his gaze and smiled breathlessly, “You’re so good,” you panted, arching into his movement and moaning when he responded by thrusting harder, chasing that sound from deep in your belly. One of your hands at his back slid down the sharp planes of his chest so your nails could dig in there and egg him on further.

“Fuck, Josh, oh _god_ it’s, _oh_!”

Josh watched as you moaned and thrust back against him, chasing your pleasure. Your cheeks were flushed and the skin of your throat was pink, complimenting the red and purple marks he had left on your let breasts nicely.

Sweat beaded on his chest as he pounded into you, heat building in his belly. He was getting close to his own release, but he wanted, no _needed_ , to see you come again. Your cries grew in pitch as he fucked into you harder, the slap of skin loud as his hips snapped against yours.

Pitching forward, he braced a hand near your head and reached for your clit with the other, growling when you shuddered and spasmed, a wrecked shout ripping from your throat.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

Sobbing, you rolled your head restlessly, whining loudly. “Ah! Ah! Oh! Ah! Fffffuuuucccckkkk!” Nearly shrieking as his fingers rolled and pinched your clit, you sobbed as you came.

Josh watched in awe as you came apart beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes as you twitched, shuddered and moaned. Aftershocks ran through your cunt and Josh hadn’t stopped, only slowed, the drag of his cock nudging against that place within you that always made you come, tender and sensitive after being fingered and fucked.

Gasping for air, the pressure in your cunt built rapidly, the heat so deep it felt like it had scorched your bones. With a particularly hard thrust and a flick of your clit, you gushed around Josh’s cock with a scream; it felt like your skull would burst with the force of your orgasm.

Josh didn’t relent, gave no quarter, and when the heat and clench of your cunt became too much, he growled and with a shout of your name, spilled into you. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, spilling hot and hard against your cunt, hips still pumping and fingers still toying with your clit. Wrecked moans of his name fell from your lips as it went on and on for both of you.

Another hot gush of release came from your cunt and Josh groaned, watching as your shared cum slid from within you to coat his cock. His hips slowed, cock sensitive and twitching against your hot walls.

Josh collapsed forward, arms bracketing your head as he stilled, cock still inside you. You gasped and moaned softly, body aching and hot in the most delicious way. You hadn’t known sex could be like this; you had heard from your friends that the first time was quick, painful and bloody.

This…

It was mind blowingly amazing. It ruined all future encounters—though you had no plans to fuck anyone else, so perhaps it could only get better from here. You laughed brokenly at that thought and at the questioning look from Josh just shook your head, still too breathless to explain.

He grinned and leaned in, kissing you softly as his chest pressed against yours and you could feel his heart pounding alongside yours as he took what little breath you had in a kiss that was tender and deep and _hot_.

“I’m not sure I can move,” you whispered against his lips, grinning when he chuckled and shook his head faintly. “Excellent job,” you joked, running your fingers over his back.

“I aim to please,” he murmured back, nipping your bottom lip with a smirk.

Glancing down to where you were still joined, he grimaced and then smiled softly at you, reassuring. “I’m gonna get a cloth to clean you up, okay baby?”

Nodding, you reluctantly let him go and moaned as he slipped out of you, his cum sliding out of you in warm rivulets that made you shudder. Dropping a kiss to your nose, he whispered, “Be right back baby,” and then hopped off the bed.

You laid there a moment before leaning up onto your elbows and glancing down between your legs. You flushed at the sight of his cum leaking out of you, the marks trailed over your breasts and the large wet spot beneath you from both of your cum.

Josh appeared, grinning as he advanced on you with a warm washcloth. Kneeling beside you, he gently nudged your legs apart and cleaned between them, pressing a kiss to your hip when you whined at the soreness and sensitivity there.

Tossing the rag aside and into your hamper, he peeled back the sheets and duvet, motioning for you to crawl beneath them. Stripping away the duvet, he grabbed the fluffy blanket from the foot of your bed and spread it out before sliding beneath the covers beside you.

Immediately you rolled into his arms, pressing your face to his throat and breathing in the scent of his warm, musky skin. You knew you needed to get up at some point and get dressed and prepare for your siblings’ return, but for now you were contented to lie here, listening to his heart beat, heart burning with the knowledge that he loved you.

There were a million questions you knew you’d have to deal with eventually, but for now, this was all you needed. Eyes sliding shut, your breathing slowed along with his and soon, you were both asleep.

* * *

_Josh walked slowly through the halls of the diocese building, his conscience weighing him down. He had been debating and praying on the decision before him since he had first begun this thing with you, and it hadn’t gotten any clearer with time._

_It was only now that your parents were gone that he began to suspect what he would have to do._

_With a deep sigh, he knocked on the door to the office of the Bishop and waited to be called inside. The older man greeted him joyfully, “Josh! I haven’t seen you since you joined that little parish in uh, Kingston, isn’t it?”_

_He nodded dutifully, “Yes sir, that’s right,” he murmured, smiling faintly. Had he never been assigned to Kingston, he wouldn’t have met you. His entire life would be different. The thought made him shiver, loneliness gnawing at his heart._

_“Well, what can I do for you? You didn’t give any details to my secretary!” he said with a chuckle, leading Josh further into his office. Waving a hand towards the chair, the Bishop sat behind his desk and peered at Josh curiously._

_Josh found he didn’t know how to start. Giving all the details was out of the question, so perhaps a little white lie? He was already going to hell, what was one more sin on the pile?_

_“I fear I’m not the right man to lead my parish anymore,” he murmured, “I met a woman,” he explained, meeting the older man’s eye and flushing at the look in his face. “I never expected it. I’ve been a priest since I was 20, nearly 18 years now and I never thought I would stray from my path. But she’s…unexpected. She challenges me constantly, teaches me things about myself I never knew, gives me hopes for a life I didn’t know I wanted,” he explained._

_The Bishop looked at him with interest, listening as Josh continued._

_“I believe,” he paused and shook his head, “no, I know, that my heart is not fit for remaining in the church. I am planning my departure for the spring,” he explained._

_He had thought long and hard about it and with you going off to college next fall, someone would need to take care of your siblings. He had already started the paperwork to make himself their permanent legal guardian, once it was final he would leave the church. The lawyers had told him it could take six months or longer for the courts to make their decision, but he wanted to be prepared for it to happen no matter how long it took._

_The Bishop nodded thoughtfully, “Will you pray with me on this?” he asked gently, waiting till Josh had nodded to stand and make for the crucifix on the wall._

_The two men knelt, bowed their heads and prayed._

_One prayed for Christ to change his heart, and the other prayed for you, and the future he wanted to share, together._

_Only one would ever come true._


	8. Chapter 8

Josh wakes early on Sunday to make sure he has time to skip out of Angel’s room before she too is awake. He stands, watching her sleep for a long moment, a warm smile curling his lips up and a painfully happy feeling pinching his lungs. He can’t recall being this happy before and it’s a little scary, a lot exciting.

Sometimes he wonders if it was fate that her parents had named her Angel or if it was just an odd serendipitous coincidence that the woman he would fall in love with was named after a creature he had believed in since childhood with near undying faith. Now he’s found his own Angel to save him and love him and he wonders how he could have possibly gotten so lucky.  

As he dresses for mass, he contemplates the mysteries of faith, love and life. The Bishop has been counseling him on staying with the church, maintaining his vows and connection to God, but Josh feels a quiet unrest at the idea, as though his soul knows that the calling that had brought him to the church had only been to lead him to this point.

To _Angel_.

His sermon that morning is contemplative, lingering on what it meant to be called by God. Did it mean fealty at all costs? Or sacrificing our own happiness for the will of God?

There were more than a few uneasy faces, and when he sees them, he hurriedly ties off his loose end thoughts with an exhortation to follow the will of God and bring glory to his name through good works and loving thy neighbor.

As he removes his robes in the back of the church, the door creaks open behind him. Whirling to see who is intruding on this sacred space, he softens and smiles when he sees Angel, clad in a soft pink cashmere sweater dress and thigh high boots. She hurries across the room to him after locking the door and throws her arms around his neck, eagerly searching out his mouth while his hands curl around her waist and land on the full swells of her ass.

Josh rolls her hips into his as his tongue dances with hers, both of them moaning quietly. Her hands slide from around his neck and trail down his chest to fumble with the belt at his waist, finally drawing his attention away from her fevered kisses.

“Baby, no, we can’t,” Josh objects, large hands wrapping around her wrists, holding them still and away from his body. She’s temptation enough, but when her hands are on him, it was so much harder to say _no_.

Pouting up at him, she bites her lower lip and widens her eyes, a tactic he’s familiar with—she’s trying to get something she wants and knows he’s likely to say no to. Chuckling, he shakes his head and bends down to kiss her again, “My Angel, you’re more devilish than your name gives you credit for,” he teases against her lips.

“I just…I want you,” Angel whispers, frowning softly, a hungry look in her eyes. “I want you inside me,” she tells him, arching toward him so her hips can roll against his half hard cock.

 

Josh groans softly and leans back in to kiss her, willpower buckling. She’s sin incarnate and still the sweetest angel and it fucks with his head because it’s all he wants, all the time–her. He wants to be balls deep inside her, listening to her moan his name and look up at him with stars in her eyes. He wants to hold her while she sleeps, secure and safe in his arms. He wants to spend every goddamn day with her, for the rest of his life.

Taking an unsteady breath, he shakes his head gently. “I want you too baby, but if someone heard us…”

He trails off, giving her a serious look, “I could end up in jail,” he reminds her. Because it doesn’t matter if the state says she can consent, people would assume that this has been going on _long_ before that was true, and he has no intentions of sullying her name or ending up behind bars branded a pedophile.

Angel huffs softly and nods, disappointed. Josh presses a kiss to her temple, smiling faintly, “Believe me baby, I want you too. All the time.”

Lifting her chin, she smirks faintly at him, a speculative gleam in her eye.

“What if I just blow you?” she suggests, grinning when he half chokes and his grip tightens on her wrists.

She’s a devil, he decides; there’s no other explanation for how a seemingly innocent young woman could want to do such dirty things in the back of a church, with a priest no less!

“Please?” Angel whispers, leaning into him again, rising on her toes to whisper in his ear, “ _please_ let me suck your cock Father Brolin. I wanna taste you.”

A broken sound rips from his throat at this, and before he fully realizes his decision, Josh is devouring her mouth and then tugging her around so her ass is grinding into his cock. Hastily he shoves up the hem of her dress, nearly shaking with desperation to touch her, and plunges a hand into her tights, fingers slipping in the slick between her legs and eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from Angel.

“You’re a little slut aren’t you?” he hisses into her ear, fingers rubbing on her clit, “Only sluts want to fuck in churches.”

She moans and nods, arching into his touch, “Y-yea, I’m a slut,” she gasps, hands wrapping around his wrist to keep him where he is. “ _Your_ slut,” she whispers in a raw voice.

Josh buries his face against her neck, breathing heavily as he works his fingers against her clit, “Fuck, _fuck_ baby, you’re so _wet_ ,” he whispers harshly, “such a good little slut,” he praises, rubbing harder.

Her hips cant into the touch as she keens softly at the filthy praise and he fights with himself to go slow, to torture her like she had done to him, just by fucking existing, but the longer he takes, the greater chance they have of being discovered, he knows.

So instead, he twists his hand and shifts it down till he can slide two fingers into her cunt, curling them hard and fast as he grinds the heel of his hand into her clit. Her whimpers and moans rise sharply in pitch—too loud for safety’s sake. His free hand rises to cover her mouth as he whispers in her ear all the dirty things he knows she loves to hear.

_You make me so hard baby_

_I love the sounds you make, come on, **louder**_

_Dirty little girl, I should make you come in front of the whole church, make them see what a slut you are_

She whines at that last one and he groans at the fire in his belly; knowing just how much she wants him never fails to burn him alive. That she’d want him to do that to her, in front of everyone…pleasure burns hotter within him and he sucks at her neck, hungry and hard. He can feel her trembling, the quaking in her thighs and the steady rhythmic clutching of her cunt a sure sign she’s close. Redoubling his efforts, Josh pants in her ear, grinding his hips and cock into her ass.

Angel’s cries are muffled against his hand as he groans and rolls his cock into her, ripping his hand away from her cunt at the last moment, leaving her dangling at the edge of release with no mercy. He shudders against her as she twists and writhes, a half sobbing noise coming from her throat at the brutal abandonment of her pleasure. As she pants for breath against his hand she makes soft unhappy noises, body moving mindlessly in search of friction.

Cock aching in his trousers, Josh releases her  mouth and spins her before pushing her down to her knees. While she stares up at him, dazed, he smirks pruriently, “If you get me off I’ll give you a reward for being such a good girl sweetheart,” he promises, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his cock.

Eyes brightening, she nods and leans up, opening her mouth to suck the fat head of it between her lips. Josh groans softly, head falling back in a rush of pleasure, eyes fluttering for a moment before he inhales sharply and turns his attention back to her.

He has seen porn, plenty of it, and slept with a few women before taking his vows, and even been sucked off by other men in the seminary(the memorable Father Reynolds came to mind)but there is nothing, _nothing_ , like seeing her plush pink mouth spread wide over his cock.

He can feel her tongue pressing against his skin as she takes him deeper, the ridges of her throat enclosing the head of his cock so perfectly it makes his eyes roll back. Her hands find his hips, pulling him closer until her nose is pressed into the fabric of his slacks.

He watches her through hooded eyes, one hand resting in her hair, not moving her, just a small show of possession that makes his blood burn that much hotter. He loves her so goddamn much, it scares him a little. He thought his vows to God were iron, unbreakable, but when he met her…he was shattered.

She hums around his cock and peers up at him, eyes begging for praise, praise he gives freely, hand slipping down to cup her face, feeling the way his cock moves inside.

“You’re so good at this baby, I’m so proud of you,” he rasps, groaning faintly when she moans and continues with even more enthusiasm. He’s close, damn close, and when he glances at the clock, he grimaces, realizing that he has to leave _very_ soon if he wants to be able to go visit with a recent widow in the church.

“Baby, I have to… _Christ_ …I have to go soon,” he pants, earning himself a disappointed half glare from her before she draws back and focuses her attention on the head of his cock. As her tongue trails over the highly sensitive skin and flicks back and forth over the weeping slit, fire runs up his spine and bursts behind his eyes.

Angel’s hand joins her mouth, pumping his shaft as she licks and sucks determinedly until he’s coming with a shout he muffles against his fist. Eyeing him, she keeps going, eagerly swallowing him down as his cock twitches and spurts forth into her mouth. It goes on for so long Josh forgets to breathe properly, white light blinding him as his body shakes and releases what feels like fire.

Eventually she pulls away and carefully tucks him back into his trousers; rising to her feet, she squeaks in surprise when he hauls her against him and kisses her so thoroughly it makes his head spin.

“I have to go, drive carefully,” he orders softly, cupping her face before he steps back and nods toward the door, “your brother and sister will be waiting for you in Sunday school,” he reminds her. She nods and readjusts her clothing, stepping towards the door before running back and kissing him again. Humming softly, Josh squeezes her ass and then nudges her back with a wry smile, “Go on little one, I’ll see you at home,” he promises.

A little thrill goes through him at that, _home_ , it was something he dreamt about, coming home to her everyday for the rest of his life.

As the door swings open behind her exit, he smiles softly, imagining a time when he doesn’t have to hide this relationship, when he can be in a room with her, holding her hand or kissing her, without worry.

 _Soon_ he reminds himself, soon.

* * *

_I will not come without permission_

_I will not come without permission_

_I will not come without permission_

_I will not come without permission_

Josh watches as Angel writes the line over and over again on the blackboard in his office. During the morning routine of breakfast, showers and getting out the door, he had passed by her bathroom and heard the quiet moans of his name, just barely audible over the shower.

He had lingered for a moment in the dark of the hallway, listening as she crested and then fell over that peak, a whining noise just barely loud enough for him to hear it as she came.

He had said nothing until her siblings had been dropped off, his hand sliding up her thigh and under that skirt skirt to cup her cunt possessively. _Whose cunt is this?_ He had demanded, eliciting a half frightened, half aroused whimper from her before she whispered, _Yours_. He had nodded and clutched it tighter, _Then why did you come in the shower this morning?_

At her sputtered response he had half growled and shaken his head, _You’re coming to my office for your punishment after school._

That had been the end of the discussion, and now he’s watching as she writes the missive out over and over again, filling the black spaces on the board. He’s sure her hand has to be tired, but he isn’t letting her go until the board is filled.

Tilting his head back against the wall, he slouches down and watches as her body sways with her motions, the hem of her skirt tucked up so he can see how he turned her ass almost cherry red from spanking.

In addition to that punishment, he gave her the vibrating underwear in place of her own and now sits with the controller in one hand. If she wants to come, he’ll make her come until she begs for it to stop.

With a flick of a button, the vibrations came alive. He watches as her spine straightens, her inhale sharp and quivering, hesitating for just a moment before she continues writing. He leaves it to hum along on the lowest setting, content to watch her handwriting grow just slightly unsteady as it buzzed against her.

“Father Brolin?”

Her voice is unsteady and he can see the stiffness in her body, the way she’s trying to fight her orgasm, but he doesn’t want that, no, he wants to watch her come apart again and again until she’s shattered.

“Yes Angel?”

“I-I’m going to…”

“You’re going to come?”

Her head bobs vigorously as she struggles to keep writing, and Father Brolin grins, “That’s all right little one, go ahead and come,” he soothes.

Angel’s spine relaxes an inch and he watches as her body bows into the vibrations, her breathing coming sharp and fast as her hands tremble against the chalkboard. Soft little whimpers come from her throat and as she peaks, Josh sighes in pleasure, watching as she spasms and moans, nails scraping the board.

As she trembles and gasps, he shuts off the vibrator, giving her a false sense of respite. Crossing one leg over the other, he gives his erection more room and releases some of the strain on it. When Angel’s breathing has slowed some, he clears his throat, smiling benevolently as she glances back over to him.

“Please, continue,” he urges blandly, nodding when she smiles weakly and turns back to the board to continue writing.

He lets thirty seconds or so pass before flicking the mechanism back on, this time to the second setting. Her hips jerk and a low cry of surprise rasps in her throat as it buzzes against what he is sure is a sensitive clit.

Her eyes dart over her shoulder to him, wide and surprised and he lifts a brow, “Yes?”

Her gaze holds his as she bites her lip, clearly holding back a question, but she keeps silent, shaking her head before she turns back and keeps writing, slower and shakier this time.

It doesn’t take nearly as long this time; her stifled moans grow louder as the vibrations continue unrelentingly against her cunt. Josh watches hungrily as she struggles to write, the letters shaky and slanting, her breathing coming in gasps as her body arches again and again into the buzzing sensation.

She’s absolutely stunning, he decides, and though he knows her body can’t go on forever, he wishes it could. He wishes he could sit back and watch her come for hours, days, until she’s insensate and awash in pleasure.

“Ah! F-Father Brolin!”

Her sharp cry is louder than any before it has been and he quickly rises to turn on the white noise machine he has near the door for just this purpose. It’s a new purchase and a rather smart one, he thinks. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned about his Angel, it’s that she’s needy, whiny and loud when she comes.

Turning, he watches hungrily as she clings to the chalk tray, heaving gasps wrenching from her throat as she comes. He can see her legs trembling and from the pitch of her cries, can tell this one is more intense than the last.

He lets it continue, one hand trailing down to press against his erection, hissing softly at the much appreciated friction. Her body leans heavily against the wall, her eyes meeting his desperately as the vibrations continue without relenting.

Josh watches hungrily as she arches, eyes wide in surprise before slamming shut, a sharp high cry ripping from her throat as yet another orgasm plunges her body into ecstasy.

When she’s begging softly, a little incoherently, he slows and then stops it.

She slumps down, barely able to stand as her body trembles, breathing fast and unsteady. Josh strolls over and peers down at her, smirking faintly when she looks up at him pleadingly. Her lips are parted and wet, bright red from being bitten and there’s a glazed look to her eyes that tells him she’s just far gone enough to want to continue.

His hand finds its way under her skirt, trailing up till he finds her thighs damp and hot, and a low groan slides from between his teeth before his hand slips past the soaked material of the underwear and curls against her cunt. Humming softly in pleasure, he watches her face as he slides his fingers between her slick lips, avoiding her clit entirely.

“You’re so wet sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Still breathing unsteadily, she nods, eyes hooded as she gazes up at him, mouth slack, allowing for sharp, loud breaths to be drawn.

“Y-Yes Father Brolin,” she agrees weakly, “was I…was I good?” she pants, looking at him almost desperately. He’s reminded of the first time he spanked her, of her promises to be his good girl, and his cock twitches.

Lips curling into a cruel smirk, he shakes his head, watching as her expression falls. “Oh sweetheart, you were very bad, and I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet,” he chides gently. “Look at your writing, it’s absolutely illegible!” he murmurs, shaking his head in disappointment.

Her lips tremble and he smirks, “But you can do better, can’t you?” he encourages with a knowing tone, egging her on. She can end this at any time, tell him it’s too much and they’ll stop, but he knows she won’t. Just like he’d keep going if he was at the mercy of her hands and twisted little mind.

They’re gluttons for punishment, the both of them, and it’s just another sin to add to the pile. He’ll be judged someday and he’s pretty sure he won’t be going to heaven, but he’ll enjoy the burn, if it means he gets to keep her as long as he can.

Nodding sharply, she stands straighter and firms up her jaw, “Yes, I can,” she declares, an edge in her voice that tells him she’s not giving in, not yet anyway.

Smiling widely, he nods sharply, “Then keep going,” he instructs before pulling away and heading back to the couch. He watches as she takes a few deep breaths and then turns to the blackboard, writing slowly, but clearly.

He waits this time until her body has relaxed, letting her think maybe he’s changed his mind, maybe it won’t turn on again before he’s flipping on the device to the highest setting.

The reaction is immediate.

Angel sways dangerously, knees quaking as she fumbles for something to hold on to, keening as the vibrations rumble against her oversensitive clit. Josh watches in awe as she clings to the chalk tray, broken sobbing cries coming from her lips as pleasure flays her body.

Springing to his feet, he hurriedly crosses the room, possessed by a desire to have her close while she comes. Pressing himself against her back, he whispers praise as she reaches back and grips his neck, holding herself up with the last of her strength.

He can feel her trembling and trying to edge away from the vibrations, high pitched whines loud in his ear. When he turns her face towards his, desire pulses through him at the blissed out, almost pained look on her face. Her lips are parted around near constant cries, eyes rolled back in her head like she’s losing her mind because of this and he burns, _burns_ to see her fall apart like this.

Father Brolin hurriedly undoes his belt and pulls his cock out before rolling his hips forward and grinding it into her ass. His breathing is hot and heavy against her neck, his low groans echoing in her ear as he presses against her.

Gasping and sobbing against him, she shakes in his grip as she comes and comes and comes. He knows it must feel like agony, like being flayed alive with pleasure, and he can only watch, enthralled, as it continues.

Angel’s cries burn into his skin, making him ache to be inside her, but instead he pulls back slightly and begins stroking himself, hard and fast. Grunting and groaning, Josh arches into the fire burning within him, cursing softly.

“Fuck, fuck Angel, you look so goddamn beautiful like this,” he rasps, groaning as the pressure in his belly grows and grows. “I’m gonna come all over you, cuz you’re such a good girl,” he pants, groaning sharply as his release edges closer.

Unable to speak, Angel’s head lolls back as the vibrations continue unabated. Her voice is hoarse from shouting and neither of them have taken care to muffle them, and Josh is too far gone now to care.

With his free hand, Josh pushes her forward a little and spreads her legs, pushing her ass out so he can slide his hand down to slip under the fabric of her underwear, fingers unerringly seeking out her cunt and sinking deep within.

Stroking himself faster now, he fucks his fingers into her, rough against that spot he knows from past experience makes her gush, groaning along with her wrecked moans. Her legs shudder so hard he’s afraid for a moment she might fall, but a quick glance shows him her fingers are tight around the chalk tray and the muscles of her arms stand out, keeping her upright. It’s an image that burns into his mind, and when her cunt closes in a vice around his fingers before it starts pulsing and squirting, he greedily memorizes the sound that comes from her throat.

Half scream, half sob, it’s loud and warbling, continuing as he grunts and groans her name, cock pulsing and painting her ass white with his cum. Stroking himself slower, his chest heaves as he pulls his fingers from her cunt and finds the remote, turning off the vibrations with a flick of his thumb.

This time she does slump, knees giving out and very nearly plunging to the ground before he can catch her, holding her up and pinning her between his firm body and the wall. As she gasps for air and whimpers brokenly, he rubs his cum into her skin and then tugs her skirt down to cover it. There’s little he can do about the slick on her thighs, and his gut tightens in a rush of lustful pride when he sees some splattered on the floor too.

For now he turns her and presses her face into his chest, holding her as she makes soft noises and clings to him weakly. When she starts to quiet, he guides her gently to the couch and into his lap, smiling softly when her arms wind around his neck.

“D-Did I…was I a good girl?” Angel asks him, breathless and exhausted.

Nodding, he smooths a hand over her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “So good baby. You were the best.”

He feels it when she sighs and collapses against him, and a few minutes later the soft sound of her snores fill his ear.

Smiling softly, he presses his lips to her hair and holds her close, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“You’re my Angel, my sweet girl,” he whispers. “All mine.”

* * *

Heavy breathing fills the candle lit room, the scent of amber and sandalwood and sex filling the air. It’s Christmas Eve and Josh had promised Angel something special, something just for them, and after some clever planning, he delivered.

Angel’s brother and sister are in the church hall, participating in a holiday lock in, replete with cookies, milk, and plenty of Christmas movies to keep them occupied for hours. Father Brolin had explained to them that he and Angel would be in the church, decorating for morning mass and if they needed her in the night, she would be sleeping in the guest room of his home.

Luckily for them, the children were fast sleep in a daze of sugarplums and reindeer, eagerly dreaming of all the things Santa would bring them.

He had transformed his spartan bedroom into a lush, seductive space filled with twinkling Christmas lights, candles and the softest sheets he could find. The scent of evergreen needles lingered in the house next to the spicy tang of gingerbread, and if he wasn’t so distracted, he’d be hungry. 

 

As it is, his attention is solely focused on Angel, watching her as she rides his cock slowly, hips undulating and rocking in a rhythm that’s slow enough to drive him crazy, but just fast enough to make his breath catch a little in his throat.

He’s stunned by her, really. She’s completely bare, body flushed and glowing under the candlelight, long dark hair cascading down her back as she arches and rolls and moans softly. Her hands are braced on his chest as she rides him, her soft whispers loud in the quiet of the room.

“I love you, _god_ , I love you.”

“Fuck, you fill me so _good_.”

“So thick…ah, your cock is _so_ thick.”

He feels a rush of pride at her words; she never fails to mention how much she loves his cock, how she loves the way he spreads her open and fills her, and it makes that male pride in him preen a little. In turn, he can’t ever go without telling her how beautiful she is, how sweet her pussy tastes and how much he loves fucking her tight little cunt.

It’s an odd love language they speak, but for them both it’s like a match to tinder, setting them ablaze.

It feels like hours since they started this, and a quick glance at the clock lets him know it’s been close to an hour already. He had eaten her out until she came twice and then laid back as she kissed over every inch of his body, leaving him aroused and shaken with the depth of his love for her.

He wasn’t a young man anymore, but with her, he has the willpower to go forever, it feels like. She had sucked his cock until he was close and then spent another fifteen minutes carefully teasing him to the edge and back three times, her clever fingers rubbing at his perineum until he was shaking and begging, fire blazing under his skin and desperation sinking its teeth into him.

When she had sunk down over his cock he had gritted his teeth, a guttural noise in the back of his throat at how tight she was around his sensitive flesh, a shiver running over his body as he fought the urge to come.

She’s a little breathless now, hips rolling faster as she chases that burning, aching, freeing sensation of release. Her nails bite into his skin and it makes him shudder a little, his hands tightening on her hips, watching as ecstasy plays over her beautiful face. She’s biting her lip and moaning, eyes hooded as she stares into his eyes and it’s intense, this connection.

This isn’t fucking, he knows. They’ve done that before–he’s fucked her hard and fast before school so she has to bury her face in her blankets to muffle her moans, but this isn’t that. It’s deeper, slower, and more tender. It’s making love, and it’s the best thing he’s ever done. It’s heartbreaking in its sweetness and shattering in its intensity, and it heals every broken part of him, makes him feel like he’s not a damned man for loving and wanting her like this.

Angel rocks faster, a whining noise breaking in her throat as he thrusts up harder into her, both of them aching for that shaking, gasping, mind numbing release that only comes when they’re joined like this.

His hands trail up her lean torso to cup her breasts, thumbs rubbing over the gently peaked nipples until they harden and she moans louder, arching into his touch. He loves every inch of her, loves touching her and marking her and feeling the slide of her silky slick skin beneath his rough palm, and he thinks that maybe he was made for loving her.

Rolling her nipples between his fingers, he watches as her breath stutters in her chest and she gives him an encouraging moan, hips rolling faster against his. Their gazes hold, steady as a rock as they move against each other, hands seeking, mouths meeting, hearts beating, together as one.

Her fingers find his nipples in return, fire shivering up his spine at the way she runs her thumbs over them, pinching them as she sinks back down on his cock, her cunt flexing around him like a vise. He feels shivery and breathless, watching as she touches him, teases him, _loves_ him.

Her smile is brief and brilliant before she’s leaning in to kiss him, tongue twining with his in an embrace that leaves his lungs burning and his lips tender and aching for more. He buries his fingers in her thick hair and holds her against him, prolonging the kiss until they’ve both slowed, the moment stretching into eternity.

His other hand slides down to where they’re connected and he gently begins to rub his thumb over her clit, swallowing her mewling little gasp in another kiss, moaning softly at the way her body shivers against him and her cunt clenches around him. She gasps his name in a reverent tone that makes his heart ache and he does it again, harder this time, just so he can have it all again.

Angel clings to him as he keeps her pressed to him, his hips snapping up harder into her, swallowing her gasps and moans with an eager mouth. She’s shaking against him now, tiny trembling moans coming from deep in her throat as he holds her tightly and his hips speed up, taking her harder.

They’re gasping against each other’s lips, moans and soft affectionate whispers joining the sound of their coupling. Her cunt pulses around him as he fucks into her hard and deep and fast, his thumb still rubbing on her clit as he watches her face contort with pleasure. She’s close, he can tell, and he doesn’t relent, doesn’t slow, just keeps going until she’s shattering around him, her cry low and throaty.

Every clench of her cunt around his cock is agonizingly sweet, her body dragging him that much closer to release. His lips find hers again before tearing away in a need for air that has him gasping against her throat as his cock swells and begins pulsing into her. Her breath pants against his throat in low, hungry moans as he continues to thrust into her, feeling it as her cunt pulses again and again.

He hasn’t slowed his fingers on her clit and she moans long and loud as he comes, spilling into her as her body burns against his, the fire between them consuming their bodies until he’s certain he’ll turn to ash.

They slow, panting and moaning softly as his cock pulses in her and her thighs tremble around him and his hands clutch her so tightly he’s distantly worried he’ll bruise her. When they’re breathing heavily and the sweat on their skin is beginning to cool, he slides his hand up her back and presses her just that little bit closer to him, satisfaction filling him as she nuzzles her face into the hollow of his throat.

Her breath warms his skin and he can feel it as she softens further, breathing getting slower as she falls asleep with his limbs still wrapped around her and his cock still inside her. They’re as close as two people can possible be and he’d be happy if she cracked open his chest and crawled inside, living there next to the heart that she had utterly claimed as her own.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live without her, doesn’t even want to try and think about what that would look like now that he knows what it means to love her. His chest hurts momentarily at the thought that something could take her away from him and his arms tighten around her; he’d kill someone, he thinks, before he’d let her go.

He knows for certain that he can’t go on without her, and it solidifies his decision to leave the church into crystal clarity. He’ll wait till she’s graduated and left for college; they’ll have to figure out if he’ll move in to take care of her siblings, but either way, he’s not staying in a cassock and vestments anymore, not when he can’t be with her and with God.

She’s broken him, he thinks, broken that mask he wore for so many years and he’s grateful for the pain that came with it, because it woke him up, cleared the veil from his eyes. She loves him, and it’s like a purifying fire that’s washed him clean. If he’s broken, it doesn’t matter because he can’t go on without her, and there’s nothing that breaks a man like a woman can.

She can shatter him, break him, and then put the pieces all back together again with those healing hands.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Father Brolin is sitting at his desk, working through the mountain of paperwork that comes with leaving the church(who knew it took twelve forms, three written statements of intent and six months of therapy to be able to leave? Certainly not him!) when his office door swung open after a sharp rap on the wood.

Looking up, his brows rose in surprise at the sight of Sister Catherine, Angel, and a boy he didn’t recognize. Sister Catherine looks annoyed and when he meets Angel’s gaze, she doesn’t look any happier.

“Sister Catherine?”

Scowling, she reaches behind her and tows both students into the room, “I caught these two cheating in my class!” she declares, somewhat triumphantly.

Father Brolin’s brows rise higher; “Cheating? On what?”

“Their statistics final! They were whispering and passing a calculator back and forth,” she tells him, looking far too pleased with herself for his liking.

Steepling his fingers, he peers at the trio for a moment before clearing his throat and asking, “Ms. Rossi, what happened?”

He sees a flash of something in her eyes like she’s angry, but her demeanor resolves into one of calm detachment. He admires it really, because the boy is sulking and the teacher is grossly excited and he thinks it bodes well that of the three of them, she’s the most composed.

“Father Brolin, we were passing my calculator back and forth, but not because we were cheating. James doesn’t have one and I said he could use mine when he needed. I cleared out my answers before letting him use it and he did the same.”

Her answer is clear and concise and entirely believable, especially given her outstanding record as a student here. He nods slowly and looks at the boy expectantly, “James?”

“Uh y-yes Father Brolin,” James stutters, “My calculator broke and we couldn’t afford a new one so Angel said she’d lend me hers for the final. There weren’t any spares in the classroom for me to use,” he explains and Father Brolin nods, absorbing all the details before turning his gaze to Sister Catherine.

“Sister it sounds like one of your students was in need and another was kind enough to help. That’s hardly reason for punishment, I think.”

Her face turns an ugly blistered red as she stammers and fumes, “Father Brolin! I know what I saw!”

Anger pulsing in his veins, he rises from his chair, using his substantial height to loom over her, brows pinching together in annoyance. “And I believe I made myself clear Sister. Ms. Rossi has an impeccable record, and I doubt she’d put that at risk. Now, if you have concerns about further issues, then why don’t we have James here remain in the classroom and finish his test while Angel remains here with me?”

The suggestion is logical, well reasoned and Sister Catherine accepts it eagerly. He hands over a spare calculator to the boy and waits till they’ve shut the door behind them to relax, expression softening as he meets Angel’s gaze.

He can tell she’s still annoyed, but there’s genuine affection in her gaze, and it warms him to the core. Pointing to the chair across from him he smiles softly, “I’ll go get your test from Sister Catherine, wait here,” he murmurs, trailing a hand over her dark hair as he passes by. 

She leans slightly into the touch and he smiles softly, affection filling him. He hurries through the halls and spends only a moment in the classroom before he’s hurrying back. 

She’s on her phone when he comes in and when he glances over her shoulder he smirks faintly.

“Prom dress shopping already?” he teases, handing her the test. She grins and tucks away her phone before pulling out her calculator and accepting the sheets of paper.

“It takes a lot of effort to find a good one,” she replies, glancing up at him from her test for a moment, “matching colors with corsages and tuxes and all that,” she muses, eyes locked on him with a curious glint before they slip back to the test.

“Oh? And who will be the lucky man who gets to put a corsage on that wrist?” he asks, voice dangerously pleasant.

“Tony DeAngelo.”

He sees red.

“You mean the boy you were caught in the practice room with? The one you let touch your **_cunt_**?” he snarls, chest heaving with anger.

She glances up and smirks at him, “Yup.”

He’s angry. Angry that she’s daring to go with someone else, angry at the irrationality of the idea _he_ wants to be her date, angry with himself for even having the fleeting notion that she’d be cheating on him when they aren’t even together in the public eye…

“Right. Well.”

He can’t string a sentence together and it just makes him angrier.

Angel sighs and looks up at him, wry humor twisting her lips together so invitingly it makes his cock twitch, remembering what it feels like to have them wrapped around him.

“We’re going as friends. I can’t go with the person I want to and he can’t either,” she explains.

“I thought he liked _you_ ,” Father Brolin mutters, still annoyed, softening slightly at what he thinks is the implication that she wants to go to prom with _him_.

She nods, “He does, but he likes someone else more and he’d never be able to take them to prom without everyone causing a fuss,” she explains before turning her attention back to the test.

Confused. Now he’s just confused.

“Who could possibly cause that much of a fuss?” he asks, befuddled.

“The quarterback of the football team.”

_Oh_

His brows rise and fall and he nods understandingly. “Yes, that would be something to fuss over,” he acknowledges.

He sits slowly, pondering what she’s told him as she focuses on her test and slowly, he comes up with a plan.

By the time she’s done with her test he’s finished a quarter of the paperwork necessary for him to leave the church and the last bell of the day has rung. The halls are loud with students screeching and laughing, lockers slamming and feet pounding into the tiling.

He holds his hand out for the test, but she doesn’t hand it over, no, she rises from her chair and slips behind his desk, her skirt rustling as she puts a hand on his chair and turns him towards her. Head lolling back, he watches her through hooded eyes as she peers down at him hungrily.

After a moment she steps forward to stand between his spread thighs, the fabric of her knee socks brushing against his trousers. Tossing the test on his desk, she braces her hands on his shoulder and sinks into him, thighs straddling his hips, breasts pressing into his chest, lips hovering just above his own.

“I wish it could be you, with me, at prom,” she whispers, hands tightening on his shoulders, lips brushing against his. Her long hair cascades around her face, shutting out the world around them as she rolls her hips into him, slowly, deliberately.

“I wish everyone could see that I’m yours.”

Her lips skim his as she continues her slow, steady, tortuous seduction.

“I wish they could see that you’re _mine_.”

A nip at his lip, a firmer press of her body against his.

“I wish I could tell these stupid girls how much they’re missing by dating boys.”

She hums against his lips, licking into his mouth gently, her tongue teasing against his and his blood rushes in his ears as she continues that slow roll of her hips. He’s getting hard beneath her, the burn of desire slowly simmering hotter and hotter.

“I wish…I wish it could be just you and me.”

He hums in agreement and wraps his hands around her waist, not guiding, just holding on as she moves a little faster.

She’s a little breathless now, her breasts rising and falling faster as she rocks in his lap, tiny mewls of pleasure in her throat as his hands slip under her skirt to palm her ass.

He’s rocking up into her too now, breathing unevenly as her hot cunt presses into the hard length of his cock, trapped in his pants and eager to be deep inside her.

“I wish you were inside me.”

He groans at that, presses his face to her neck as she moves, cursing her quietly. She laughs softly, runs her fingers through his hair as she rolls her hips, a soft gasp brushing his ear.

Distantly he hears the sound of heels clacking in the hallway and it occurs to him that it’s likely Sister Catherine coming for her test.

“Baby, you gotta stop, someone’s coming.”

She whines softly and kisses him hard before she’s slipping off his lap and under his desk. He doesn’t have time to object because the door is swinging open and he’s turning back to hide his erection, and sure enough it’s Sister Catherine.

She glances around the room, beady eyes falling on Angel’s backpack, noting the obvious absence of the teen girl. Beneath his desk he can feel her hands gently palming him, squeezing softly, the friction enough to make his gut twist.

With a carefully neutral face he offers Sister Catherine the test, frowning when she doesn’t take it and leave.

“Where is Ms. Rossi?” she asks, once more peering around the room like she thinks Angel might be hiding behind the coat rack and it might be funny, if Angel wasn’t in fact unzipping his trousers under his desk at that very moment.

When her hand pulls him from within his briefs his breath stutters for a moment before he exhales carefully.

“Bathroom. She finished her test under my supervision. I don’t believe you had anything to worry about, but I thank you for your diligence Sister Catherine.”

He offers her the test again and breathes a sigh of relief as she takes it, then curses silently as she sits across from him. Below, Angel licks st the head of his cock delicately, flicking her tongue against the tip and lapping at the cum that trickles out slowly.

He can feel the flush building on his cheeks as he struggles to remain composed, body tight and strained as he offers Sister Catherine a sharp smile. “Was there something else?”

“Yes, I just wanted you to know how highly I and the other teachers think of you for taking on the responsibility of caring for those poor young dears.”

She shakes her head, sorrow lining her face, “Can you imagine, being orphaned like _that_?”

Angel seems to pause for a moment before she wraps her lips around his cock and slides down his length till he’s nudging at the back of her throat. Hands clenching at the armrests of his chair, he nods solemnly, thighs trembling beneath the hard oak of his desk.

“Luckily Ms. Rossi is an excellent student and a wonderful role model for her siblings,” he murmurs, “she’s taken on more responsibility than some adults have had to and handled it with grace. I’m sure she’d wish for nothing more than to have her parents back however.”

Sister Catherine nods solemnly, crossing herself as she sighs. “Poor dears. Is there anything they need?” she asks, and he knows she’s being kind, but he really just wants her to go so he can relax and enjoy Angel sucking him off, but the blasted woman just won’t go!

“They are doing just fine, thank you.” He pauses and makes a little _ah_ sound as Angel’s throat works around him. “Ah, ahem, my apologies Sister but I do have a bit of paperwork to finish before I can leave tonight,” he explains, giving the older woman an apologetic smile.

He’s barely shaking, a fine tremble running over his body as Angel slides over his length, slowly, quietly. Sister Catherine nods and rises, giving him another fond smile before she’s leaving, shutting the door behind her with a solid _snick_.

All of ten seconds pass and then…Angel is shoving his chair back, following it so she’s out from under his desk, head bobbing over his cock, faster now. It’s louder too, the wet, sloppy sound of her mouth, and it makes him burn with the need to come.

She peers up at him through her lashes, moaning around his cock, hands massaging his thighs and balls so he’s pushed closer and closer to the edge. She fists his cock as she focuses on the top, tongue flicking hard against his slit and mouth suctioning so hard it lances through him like steel.

He chokes on a moan, not wanting to be too loud,  not knowing that the door is still unlocked and that anyone could come in and catch them. God, what a mess _that_ would be.

Her hand has disappeared beneath her skirt and he can see she’s making slow steady circles on her pussy, and just knowing that this gets her off, it makes him arch into her mouth and groan.

She redoubles her efforts and he watches as she bucks into her hand gently, soft moans buzzing in her throat and up his shaft. His release is building, growing more imminent with each moment and panic builds in his gut when he once again hears footsteps coming down the hall.

Angel gives him a wicked look before she’s sucking and licking at his cock like she’s trying to suck his soul out through it, and sharp anticipation and fear and lust roil together into a release that’s as unexpected as it is welcome.

She swallows it down and rises, wiping her mouth as she hurries back around the desk, plopping in the seat just as the door swings open again and he’s hastily forced back under so his wet, drained cock isn’t visible.

Sister Catherine peers between them and smiles faintly at Angel, “Miss Rossi, you left your sweater in my classroom,” she murmurs, handing over the garment. Angel accepts it with a beaming smile and tucks it carefully into her lap with a murmured _thank you_.

His smile is tight as he nods to her, “Thank you Sister, have a good evening,” he murmurs, his dismissal gentle but firm.

When the older woman has left yet again, Angel smirks and stands, “We should get going, we still have to pick up my brother and sister,” she reminds him, eyes dancing with amusement.

Shaking his head, he rolls back and tucks his cock back into his pants before gathering his papers and shoving them in his bag. Tugging on his coat, he looms over her, one large hand coming down to grab her ass and pull her into him.

His lips hover over hers and he can feel her breathing unsteadily as he grinds her cunt into his thigh. “You didn’t get to come, did you sweetheart?” He knows the answer of course, he just wants to hear her beg for it.

She smirks against his lips and shakes her head, “No, but I was hoping you might wanna fuck me tonight,” she replies, hands fisting in his coat. “I need that cock to fill me up,” she whispers, laughing in her throat as he growls and devours her mouth.

Panting as they pull apart, his dark gaze meets hers intently.

“Don’t you worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.”

It’s a promise that makes them both shiver.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat sheens on skin as fingers trace finely lined muscles, the touch delicate when all that is really wanted is _more_.

Josh watches as Angel arches into the touch, ass pushed out and thighs trembling, her breathing coming just a little too fast as she struggles to stay quiet.

He’s been repaying her for earlier; touching and teasing all night when the kids weren’t looking, and now that they’ve gone to bed, he’s working hard to exact his revenge.

He’s fingered her to the edge three times, played with her tits till she was sore and whimpering, and for the past ten minutes has been slowly fucking her with her vibrator, pulling it out to tease at her clit before thrusting it back into her cunt to listen to her moan.

She’s wet, very wet, and though her face is buried in her sheets, he can still hear her moans as he fucks her slowly with the vibrator. He doesn’t intend to push her like he has in the past, in fact, he plans on fucking her soon, but he just keeps getting distracted by all the little ways her body shivers and shakes as she’s denied release over and over again.

“Fuck, please, _please_ let me come,” she gasps, voice harsh from muffling her moans. Her fingers are knitted in the blankets as he fucks the toy into her, watching from behind as her muscles quake and her cunt clenches around the plastic.

She’s breathless as he pulls it out and slides it between her slick folds, the wet sound making pleasure shiver up his spine. She moans as the toy is pressed to her clit, holding it there until she’s shaking, moments from release, and once more he pulls it away.

Her cry is sharp, muffled slightly by the pillow, and he watches, enthralled as she arches and bucks, cunt pulsing between her legs. He doesn’t bother shutting off the toy before he throws it away and shoves down his sweats so his cock can spring free.

Barely taking a moment to align himself, he thrusts into her in one hard roll of his hips, groaning as her cunt spasms around him and she buries her face in the pillow with a long shaky moan. He doesn’t hold back, both of them are far too keyed up to play this slow, and besides, he prefers the sound she makes when he’s wrecking her anyway.

The wet slap of his cock into her is loud, and he can feel the bed rocking under the force of his thrusts but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop. His hands grasp her waist hard enough to bruise(he knows, he’s left marks on her before) and drag her hips back so with every forward thrust she’s being impaled on his cock.

Angel gasps and moans and writhes, high pitched cries barely muffled by the pillow as she bites it, struggling to stay quiet so her siblings don’t wake and hear. Perversely, he wants her to be so loud they hear, he wants _everyone_ to hear her as she cries his name and moans and begs for it.

Fire ripples up his spine at the thought; it seems they both like the idea of getting caught, of the whole world seeing how much they love each other. He groans and pounds into her harder, cursing under his breath as she sobs and arches into him, weak gasps of his name cracking in her throat.

His hands slip back to cover her ass, gripping the meat of it as he pushes her forward, further into the mattress as he fucks her harder, chest heaving with exertion as his fingers spread her ass so he can see his cock pounding into her cunt.

It’s coated with her slick arousal and the smell of their sex fills his nose, every sense overwhelmed by her. His thumb dips down to swipe the slickness sliding down her thigh and carries it back up to circle the tight ring of her ass.

He’s gentle, even as his cock is taking her apart, rubbing the tight muscle until it loosens just enough for the tip of his thumb to dip in. Angel moans brokenly, soft sobbing sounds coming from where she’s pressed her face into her pillow and he can feel the way her cunt responds to the new sensations, clutching and grabbing at his cock.

“You want me here baby?” he growls, circling his thumb as he fucks into her. She whimpers high and her body trembles under the assault of sensation, but that’s not good enough, he needs to hear her say it.

“C’mon little girl,” he grunts, “you want me in your ass?” he demands, cock plunging into her in long, hard strokes that make her body shake. He wiggles his thumb into her a little further and she gasps, arching hard, cunt pulsing rapidly around him as she comes.

“Yes! Fuck! _Yes_!”

She’s shaking as she comes, his cock still hammering into her and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last with her cunt like a vise around him.

She moans, long and loud, “YES! _Ah_! Want you in my ass daddy!” and that’s it, he absolutely _loses_ it. He’s grunting and groaning, fucking her mindlessly as his thumb presses in and then he’s coming, cursing and shouting as her cunt spasms around him. 

It’s wet and messy and noisy and they should know better but he’s too lost in this moment to care about anything other than the way her cunt feels as it’s pulsing with release. It’s sliding down her thighs and splashing his abdomen and she’s making these noises like she’s dying, and he’s losing his _goddamned mind._

They’re both shuddering as his cock twitches inside her, filling her with his cum. They’re moaning and gasping and being _way_ too loud, but he can’t stop, and her mewling, gasping sobs of pleasure are too good to quiet.

He collapses against her as his cock spills into her, groaning softly as she moans and shifts underneath him. His breath puffs against her ear as his heart gallops, the thundering sound of it loud in his ears.

They’re still like that five minutes later when there’s a knock at the door and a soft voice calls out.

“Ang, I had a nightmare.”

Angel shifts beneath him, sighing heavily and whimpering when he pulls out of her, their combined cum spilling out of her. He hastily grabs her robe and offers it to her before he tucks his cock into his sweats and backs away into her bathroom.

She lifts herself off the bed with a weak moan, legs trembling as she wraps her robe around herself and stumbles towards the door, rubbing a hand over her hair to smooth the wild knots and disarray it’s fallen into.

He hears it as she opens the door and talks softly to her little brother, her voice soft and low and exhausted. It takes awhile, but eventually she comes back into the room and closes the door, sighing heavily.

He steps out and she smiles at him, eyes heavy and body loose with exhaustion. He hurries over and wraps his arms around her, lips pressing to her hair as she clings to him, breathing slow and steady.

“You wore me out,” she whispers, voice muffled against his chest.

“Did I? Well, then you should get to bed,” he murmurs back, smiling faintly as she clings tighter to him, shaking her head. “C’mon baby, bedtime,” he encourages, pushing her gently away until he can strip the robe from her body and offer her the T-shirt of his that she usually sleeps in.

When she’s changed, he tucks her into her bed and lays beside her, her head nestled under his chin as she breathes slowly, limbs softening as she begins to fall asleep. His fingers play with her hair, nose buried in the silky strands until she’s pliant and snoring in his arms.

He breathes her in and starts to drift, overwhelmingly happy and soft with contentment. He loves her so goddamn much, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her.

Loving her, it’ll be the only thing that he does, everyday for the rest of forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d asked her what she wanted for her birthday and he hadn’t been disappointed with the answer. Now, as he watched the clock tick down to the end of the school day, an ember of desire glowed in his abdomen, eager to be ignited into a fire.

They’re going away for the weekend, just the two of them, back to New York City and that fancy hotel room she had liked so much and he honestly can’t wait to see her all dressed up for dinner and dancing and then naked, spread out on the bed for him to feast on.

A shiver runs up his spine and when the last bell rings he takes his time gathering his things, knowing she’ll be along soon. Her brother and sister will be with friends for a long sleepover, and the cover story they’re selling is that he’s taking her to visit NYU.

He’d feel bad about the lie(yet another sin) but when his door cracks open and she stares at him all wide eyed and affectionate, he doesn’t give a damn about anything.

On a Friday the school empties out fast, and the silence beyond his doorway is deafening. Angel grins at him before flinging herself across the room, arms winding around his neck so she can kiss him desperately.

His large hands fall to her hips, pulling her closer and then drifting down to slip beneath the fabric of her uniform, hands palming her ass and grinding her hips into his until she’s moaning into his mouth and moving on her own, his hands just there to hold her.

Eventually he breaks the kiss, but leaves his hands where they are as he smirks down at her. “We gotta get on the road baby,” he reminds her, “we have dinner reservations to make.”

She pouts for a moment and then grins, “I can’t believe we get the whole weekend together,” she enthuses, hands clenching in the fabric of his sweater. “I can’t wait to have you all to myself,” she murmurs, voice low and throaty and he grips her ass tighter, desire pulsing in his veins at the coy look she’s giving him.

A whole weekend together, with her in charge. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive, but he knew it was certainly going to be memorable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh reclined on the sofa, idly watching tv while Angel got ready for dinner. She had refused to tell him what she was wearing, insisting it would be a surprise instead.

As a general rule, he didn’t mind surprises, especially when it came to his princess. That tight, expectant feeling was already winding him up, his body taut with excitement at the prospect of their whole weekend being spent doing whatever she wanted to do.

In the way here she had chattered on about going to see the Met, the Statue of Liberty, and about fifty other tourist traps, but honestly, he didn’t care if she wanted to go to Coney Island and get shitty food and play arcade games because this was her birthday and he was giving her whatever she wanted.

The bedroom door cracked open and his gaze flickered up, heart thumping irregularly and eyes widening at the sight of her.

Long tanned legs stretched in for miles in spikey black and gold heels, the hem of her dress barely more than a hand width below her ass. Gaze skating upwards, he gulped at the cut of the dress; covering her arms and throat, it plunged away and revealed some very enticing, very strappy black lingerie beneath the body hugging material.

This dress was black, unlike the one she had worn when they came here the first time, and as much as he had liked that dress, he liked this one more. The other had been beguiling and understated in its seduction.

 

This one, he clenched his hands on his knees, wiping sweaty palms against the fabric of his black jeans, this one was sin incarnate. She had gold crystal studs winking at her ears and a long dangling pendant hung between her breasts and he wanted nothing more than to toss her over his shoulder and keep her in bed all weekend.

Lifting a wry brow, she smirked at him and waved a hand at him, “Are you ready baby?”

Shooting to his feet, he crossed the room and looked over her, her heels doing little to put her on his level. “I’m ready to throw you over my shoulder and take you to bed,” he murmured urgently, eyes dark and heated on hers.

Smirking, she put a hand to his chest as he went in for a kiss and shook her head, “Reservations, remember?” At his groan she laughed and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning at the bright red imprint of her lips that got left behind.

Wiping it away, she took his hand and tugged, “Come on, I’m hungry.”

With a resigned sigh, he followed her out of the suite, enjoying the view from behind as her hips swayed and the fabric of her dress clung to her delectable body.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh was not a nightclub man. At least, he hadn’t been until Angel had asked to go, and upon seeing her sensuous swaying to the too loud music, had promptly changed his mind.

He’s the oldest person here, at least down on the dance floor. The VIP section is filled with men and women, some his age, others much younger or older and he’s glad she’s never come to a place like this without him because based on the looks she’s getting, she’d be eaten alive by the wrong person.

His hands are light on her hips; he’s more content to just watch her than dance himself, but after the bottle of wine they had shared at dinner ( _illegalwrongbad_ his conscience likes to remind him) he’s a little (a lot) more willing to slip closer to her and pull her hips against his.

Closing his eyes, he lets the beat of the music and the sway of her hips guide his own movements, hands firm on her waist as she reaches up to twine her fingers in his hair. She would never have gotten in here on her own, no matter how enticing she looks, she’s pretty clearly underage. The only way she did make it in was with a hundred slid to the bouncer, and her, tucked securely under his arm so there was little doubt who she was with.

He thinks about that, as she dances, how she’s his, but he’s equally hers. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’d do anything to keep her by his side, give her anything she wanted, so long as it made her happy. She’s everything he never knew he wanted, and he’s going to hold on to her with both hands and never let her go.

Speaking of hands…Angel’s were clutching at his hair and his hip as she rolled her body back into his, the music pulsing under her skin so he can feel where it vibrates, tingling against his palm where it’s pressed into her hip.

He’s hard, but it isn’t urgent, it just _is_ , and even though she’s grinding into him, steadily, intently, neither of them is doing anything about it yet. He glances at his watch and smirks, it’s a little past 1 am and she’s showing no sign of slowing or tiring.

Leaning in, he licks the sweat off the column of her throat, humming when she moans and arches into him, tilting her head to the side to give him greater access. His lips and teeth skim over her throat, nibbling, sucking, bruising, until she’s squirming against him, writhing and moaning and he smirks; it won’t take too much longer till she’s ready to go.

He watches as she pulls out her phone and the familiar blue of Twitter flashes over the screen, her fingers too fast for him to read what it is she’s tweeting before she’s tucking the phone back wherever it has been hidden.

The music changes, is a little slower, sweeter and she tunes to face him, arms winding around his neck as she presses herself against him, eyes keen as the song plays, studying him.

_Never been with someone I can’t live without_

_I wanna let you know I’m so scared_

_Ruin my lipstick, ruin my bed, ruin the hair upon my head, but don’t you ever ruin my mascara_

_Ruin my body every night, ruin my dress and not my life, boy don’t you ever ruin my mascara_

Her eyes are searching him and he realizes she must have requested the song from the DJ with the intention of making him hear and understand what she’s thinking without having to say it herself .

He’s puzzled, quite frankly. He’s not sure he understands why she’s scared, or why she thinks he’ll make her cry, but it weighs heavily on him, makes worry gnaw at his belly like a hungry wolf.

He’s made mistakes with her in the past, that’s true, but things have been good, amazing really, recently, and if she’s worried and scared he’s not sure why she wouldn’t say something.

Leaning in, he kisses her softly; they’ve stopped dancing, standing still in a room full of frenetic energy and it feels a little like being in the eye of a storm; wild and tempestuous, awe inspiring and a little scary.

He can feel how fast their hearts are beating and when he pulls back to let them breath he presses his forehead into hers, the music thrumming around them like a living thing, caressing and twining through the mass of bodies in a hypnotic undulation that’s entirely unique to this place and time.

Angel pulls back slightly, takes his hand and tugs, leading him through the smoky haze and into a dark corridor that leads to a small private room that to his surprise is mostly empty. The music here is slower, sensuous and the other couple in the room is too occupied to notice their arrival.

She pushes him down into the couch and shuts the door, the lock clicking loudly as she leans against the door and stares at him, her dark eyes wide and unfathomable. A smirk plays at her lips and she saunters over, hips swaying so he can see the fabric of her dress shifting and the sheer blackness of her thigh highs shimmering in the low light.

As the bass thumps in the couch beneath him, she lays a hand on his shoulder and stands between his spread legs, hips rolling and swaying, her hungry gaze still on him as she dances for him. She looks dark, dangerous, hungry, her cheeks flushed and her body rolling in a sinuous reflection of when she’s writhing against him, begging for his cock.

A smirk crosses her lips; she knows what she looks like, what she’s doing to him, and she knows she can get away with it because he loves her, needs her, would die without her.

She moves closer, straddles his lap before she’s sinking down and grinding her ass into his cock, tearing a low groan from the back of his throat as it rubs into the rough material of his jeans. Her ass rolls into him over and over again as she trails her fingers over his chest, unerringly finding first one nipple and then the other, pinching just hard enough to have him grunting and rolling his hips back into her, a pulse of pre cum wetting his jeans.

Leaning in, she presses her lips to his throat and continues, her breathing uneven and soft in his ear. Nipping at the soft skin beneath his ear, she laughs at his pained groan and pushes her ass into him harder.

“Are you gonna cum daddy? Are you gonna make a mess?”

He groans louder; that damn name on her lips makes him fuckin crazy. Nodding, he licks his lips and manages to whisper back, “Yea baby, is that what you want princess?”

She laughs again and trails kisses along his jaw, her hips rolling a little faster now, “I do daddy. I want you to cum in your pants and make a mess so everyone knows what we were doing. So they know you’re mine,” and her teeth close on his skin in a possessive move that has him groaning, hands tightening on her hips as his cock leaks more.

He can feel it on his skin, dampening his jeans and fuck, _fuck_ he’s close, and a part of him panics, wondering what the bishop would think if he saw this egregious sin, and then she’s kissing him, fingers clever and tight on his already taut nipple, twisting as her tongue twines with his and her ass grinds relentlessly into him and heat lightning surges in his stomach and he cums, groaning and shuddering.

Angel nips at his bottom lip, her ass still pressing into his cock as it twitches in his jeans and he groans at the overstimulation, hands gripping her so tightly he’ll probably leave marks but she’s determined and demanding with her lips and hands and hips and to his shock he cums more, the heat in his blood and the ache in his cock almost unbearable.

When the stars clear from his eyes he glances over at where the other couple was and is pleased to see they’re long gone, the room empty, save for the two of them. Angel cards her fingers through his hair, tugging on it till he looks back at her, slightly dazed and loose limbed with pleasure.

Crimson stains her lips and he thinks it must be smeared on his skin, marking him, claiming him, and it makes something in him preen with pride. Her teeth flash as she grins, toying with the soft hairs behind his ear and at the nape of his neck, and if they weren’t here, he’d fall asleep.

Leaning in, she presses another kiss to his lips, softer this time, and hums softly, happily. “Let’s go,” she encourages, sliding off his lap, legs coltish as she shivers for a moment and then tugs him up alongside her. He realizes that she hasn’t come yet and the animalistic pride in him is angry that he hasn’t made that happen for her.

They make it back to the hotel and when the doors of the enormous suite close behind them, she leads him into the bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed before taking a step back and staring at him intently. Somewhere distantly, he hears music playing from her phone and once again, she dances for him.

This time is different though; her hands drag up her thighs and tug the fabric of her dress up until it’s just barely hinting at what is underneath, the apex of her thighs shadowed and alluring in the dark. In one smooth motion she pulls it off, over her head and tosses it aside, leaving her in a set of lingerie that takes his breath away.

Black and strappy, it’s almost sheer so her dusky nipples are just barely visible and the pale skin of her cunt is hinted at behind it and his mouth goes dry with need, watching as she sways, hands running over her body, her gaze steady on him.

His cock is filling slowly, age and a previous release making it take longer, but he doesn’t mind, he’s content to watch her for now. When she slinks forward and climbs onto the bed and into his lap, he’s surprised for a moment and then pleased, wrapping his hands around her hips.

Shaking her head, she peels his hands off, “No touching yet,” she orders, the commanding tone of her voice making him shiver, cock swelling. Nodding, he tucks them at his sides and watches as her hands trail over her body, fingers rolling and pinching her nipples through the flimsy lingerie, one hand skimming down to slip beneath her garter and underwear.

Her inhale is sharp and just slight too soft to be a moan, but the way her eyes flutter at the touch makes him swallow hard. Her fingers move in concert, switching from breast to breast, the ones at her cunt making slow, steady circles on her clit. Hips rolling gently, she watches him through hooded eyes, lips parting on soft gasps.

“Do you want to touch me Father Brolin?” she asks with a faint smirk in her voice, already knowing the answer.

“Yea, yea little one, I do,” he admits; no sense in lying when she knows him so well.

“How would you touch me?”

 _Fuck_ she’s going to be the death of him, he decides, swallowing hard before he can answer.

“I’d lick those pretty nipples of yours and suck on them till they’re all red and swollen.”

She nods eagerly and pinches at them, sighing out a soft moan.

 _Fuck_ , he’s never gonna last like this.

“I’d rip those panties off of you and fuck you with my fingers, feel how wet my little princess is, make you come so hard you scream.”

_Uhnnn_

Her guttural moan is loud and he can hear how wet she is, her fingers sliding through it with slick, feverish movements. Eyes glazed, she nods and rocks in his lap, “Would you fuck me?” she demands, “put your huge cock in me?”

Reaching between them, she palms his cock, forcing a grunt from between his teeth; he’s hard and it hurts, and it feels so good—the pain—it’s sharp and hot and keeps his attention from wandering.

Nodding, he gasps as she rubs, eyes glittering with dark intentions, “Yea baby, I’d fuck you until you couldn’t move,” he grits out, “make you take my cock until you’re all stretched out and soaked in my cum.”

She whines and rubs harder on him, on her, her breath coming in little pants and he knows, she must be close.

“Ruin me,” she gasps, fingers tightening on him as she inhales sharply and bucks her hips, whining as her release crests and swells within her. Her fingers at her clit move hard and fast now and he watches intently, gaze skipping between her face and her cunt, as she comes, breath stuttering in her chest.

“Oh _fuck_! Oh Father Brolin, fuck, please, please!”

He’s not sure what she’s begging for, but he’s right on the edge and she hasn’t let go of his cock, fingers tight around it and he can’t come, not yet, not without being inside her.

“Good girl,” he soothes, hands clenching at his sides with the urge to touch her, heart beating too fast in his chest as he watches her fall apart. She whines at the praise and keeps rubbing on her clit, tiny gasps escaping her lips.

“You’re so beautiful like this sweetheart, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs, smiling when her breath stutters and her thighs tighten around his hips, the heat of her between her legs searing into him through his jeans.

As she slows he keeps murmuring sweet things, watching as her body slackens, lids drooping with satiated lust. She smiles at him and pulls her hand from between her legs and holds it out to him, her scent strong and heady in his nostrils.

Eagerly he leans forward and takes her wet fingers between his lips, sucking them clean and filling his mouth with that taste of her. When she pulls them free she slides them down his throat, a wet trail that makes him shiver. Tightening on his skin, she leans in and kisses him, hard, possessive, her grip just barely depriving him of air.

His entire body feels like it’s burning, aching at every touch. Distantly he can feel her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it off and throwing it aside before they come back for his jeans. As the cool air hits his cock he hisses against her lips, the sensation too much, and at the same, not enough.

When he’s naked beneath her she pulls back and stares, eyed hooded and lustful, lips parted and shiny from their kisses.

She’s absolutely the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, so much so that it makes his chest hurt, steals the breath from his lungs for a moment and tears burn in his eyes before he blinks and regains a modicum of control.

Leaning back into him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, slow and sweet this time, a happy noise in the back of her throat making him smile against her lips. Slowly she pulls back and pushes at him till he’s lying flat on his back and she’s straddling him, still covered in all that lace and silk.

Her dark hair cascades around their faces when she leans in and whispers in his ear, shivers running over his skin at the silky tendrils tickling his skin and the heat of her breath bathing his neck.

“I’m going to sit on your face while I suck your cock, how does that sound, hmm?” she whispers, a throaty laugh in his ear when he groans and nods eagerly. “Good, now, I have a little surprise for you Father Brolin, do you want to see?”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but _yes_ , of course he wants to see.

She grins and shuffles down his body before she turns around and shuffles back, her cunt hovering just over his chest. At first he doesn’t know what to look for, it’s all just black lace and pale thighs and then… _oh, oh god_.

“ _Christ_ ,” he rasps, fingers coming up hesitantly to brush over the little jeweled plug nestled between her ass cheeks. She peers over her shoulder at him, biting her lip as he presses on it lightly. “ _Christ_ ,” he whispers again, throat going dry as he realizes that she’s done this to herself, played with her ass and put this here for him to see and god, he doesn’t even know what to say.

“Baby…”

He shakes his head and leans up to press a kiss to her ass cheek, thumbs stroking the backs of her thighs reverently, a fine tremor running over his body, anticipation making his gut twist.

When something hot and wet surrounds his cock he swears and jolts, attention being brought down to where she’s licking his cock. “Make me cum daddy, or you don’t get to,” she whispers against the hot skin of his cock, tongue dainty as it ticks over the head.

He needs no more encouragement than that and grabs her thighs, hauling her back so he can pull her down and into his face. The scent of her overwhelms him and he groans as he tugs at her panties, pulling them down till they’re at her knees and keeping her from moving too far.

He dives in with tongue and teeth and fingers and she’s moaning loudly, nails biting into his thighs, her cries spurring him on. He fucks her with his tongue and then focuses on her clit with relentless strokes, two fingers sliding into her cunt easily.

He finds that spot within her easily and fucks his fingers into it hard and fast, sucking on her clit till he can feel it throb on his tongue. She’s gasping and moaning, getting wetter by the second, her cries muffled by his cock in her throat.

His free hand finds the plug and begins playing with it, twisting and tugging on it, pulling it out an inch and then sliding it back in. Angel moans desperately, hips rolling and back arching and he can feel her cunt spasming, knows she must be close, her cries are pitched and needy as she sucks him harder.

It’s a feedback loop; every moan vibrates up his cock, into the pool of heat in his belly, makes him want more, so he fucks another finger into her and begins thrusting the plug in and out of her ass, making her whine and tremble and gasp around the thick length in her mouth.

They’re loud, he knows it, but he doesn’t give a damn, not when it feels like this, like they might both combust and blaze together like a pair of phoenixes, reborn in the flames of their passion.

Angel rubs at his perineum and he makes a choked sobbing noise against her clit, vision whiting out as she swallows him, throat working and fuck, _fuck_ , he’s cuming and it _burns_ it feels so good.

He has four fingers in her cunt, slick dripping down her thighs as she whines and bucks, swallowing his cum as he fucks the plug back into her ass. She chokes as she cums, her wail of pleasure muffles against his cock and the sensation of it sends another wave of cum pulsing down her throat.

When she finally pulls off his cock, whining and begging— _please please please_ —he removes his mouth from her cunt and pulls his fingers from within her, watching in the dim light as slick trails down her thighs. She rolls to the side, collapsing on her back, gasping for air, and he wraps his wet fingers around her thigh, needing to maintain some contact after that blissful moment that seemed to stand still.

As their breathing steadies, she rolls, shuffles and then snuggles into his side, breaths slow and steady against his skin. Peering at his watch, he grins—it’s just past three am which means she’s officially 18.

“Happy birthday baby,” he whispers, fingers tangling in her hair.

He can feel her smile against his skin before she whispers back around a yawn, “Love you Josh.”

“Love you too baby,” he murmurs around a chuckle, petting her hair back from her face as her breathing slows and steadies.

_More than you’ll ever know_


	10. Chapter 10

He wakes, sometime later, it feel like hours but when he peers out the window he can see the sky just beginning to turn a murky grey which means it’s still a few hours till dawn. The bed is cold and when he peers at where Angel had been, his stomach jolts at the realization that she’s gone.

Stumbling from the bed he hastily pulls on briefs and a sweater, checking the bathroom and walk in closet before storming out into the suite and coming to a halt at the sight of her, half dressed in his button down shirt, clutching a mug of tea and staring out the wide windows at the lights glittering below them.

His feet scuff against the hardwood, and she must hear him coming but she doesn’t look up until he’s standing over her, silent and dark as a shadow. His fingers curl through her hair and she leans into the touch, smiling faintly, but there’s sadness in her eyes and it makes his stomach clench with worry.

Crouching down beside the large armchair, he peers up at her, worry furrowing his brow. Gently he pushes the hair back from her face, thumb caressing the fine lines of her cheek and jaw, gaze steady on her.

“What’s wrong my Angel?”

She smiles weakly at the term of endearment and leans into his touch, “I just, I had a dream about my parents and I couldn’t go back to sleep,” she admits, eyes troubled.

“What was the dream about?”

She shrugs and turns away from his hand, peers out the window with a carefully blank expression.

“You and I were,” she pauses, bites her lip, “in your office. You had me bent over, fucking me from behind, spanking me for being loud.”

Here she pauses, licks her lips and he realizes she enjoyed that part of the dream and he flushes with pride; even in her dreams he makes her happy.

“And then the door opened and they were there. They watched as you fucked me and made me come and when we were done my mother slapped me, called me a whore, Jezebel, and said I was no daughter of hers. They turned into this bright white light and before they disappeared I heard them say that I wouldn’t be welcome in God’s kingdom, that they would see me burn in Hell for my sins.”

His stomach twists at this and he shakes his head fervently, “Angel, baby, it was a dream.”

Her eyes blaze at him in the murky light, “I know that I’m not stupid,” she snaps. “But can you honestly tell me they wouldn’t have reacted the same if they _had_ found out?” she demands.

He almost snaps back _of course not_ , but she’s right, and he’s not stupid enough to try and convince her otherwise. Nodding slowly, he glances out at the lights—it might be easier for her if he doesn’t look when he says this.

“They would be angry, you’re right. And I would do whatever you wanted if they had ever found out. We could end things, I would leave, never to be seen or heard from again, if that’s what you wanted.”

Her inhale is sharp and ragged and one of her hands reaches out to cup his jaw and turn his face back towards her, the palm of her hand warm from the heat of her mug, soothing and gentle against his scruff.

Dark eyes search him, sorrow filled and tired beyond what any 18 year old has a right to be, and something in him quails; has he done the right thing by starting this relationship with her? So much of her life would be different if he had left well enough alone.

Her parents would probably still be alive.

She must be able to see his thoughts or read the anxiety on his face because she’s making soft soothing noises and shaking her head, “No, I would never want that. I love you Josh and I would never want to lose you.”

“If I hadn’t started this thing, if I hadn’t demanded obedience and coerced you, your parents would be alive,” he whispers, the words burning in his mouth as they fall from his lips.

She swallows hard and glances away, throat working for a moment before she looks back at him, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Maybe,” she admits with a small nod, “or maybe they would have taken us all out for dinner and we _all_ would have died. There’s no way to know what would have happened and I don’t want you to think that I regret loving you.”

She smiles softly, benevolently and it washes over him like holy grace, erasing his sins, fears and shortcomings.

“I needed you; to make me stronger, strong enough to survive the worst. To make me ask for what I need without fear, and to make me feel in control when so much around me was chaos. I _still_ need you; I need you to be my friend and my rock, to guide me through life and to be my partner.”

She hums softly and caresses his cheek, “And you need me too. You’re in your head too much, worry too much about things we can’t control.” Her thumb presses into his chin, tilting his face up and he marvels at her strength.

“If we had never become _this_ , I think my life would be good, happy. But with you, with us, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted from love. I know you’ll take care of me and let me hold you up when you can’t be strong. I don’t regret how we got together my love, I just wish things could be different for my brother and sister. This isn’t the life they should have had.”

Her eyelashes flutter and a few tears escape and he surges up, wiping them away and pressing kisses to her lips, brushing over her cheeks and nose and temple, little puffs of air and _I love you’s_ tracing over her skin.

She clutches him and wraps her arm around his shoulders, buries her face in his throat with a soft distressed sound and he feels more tears fall. They stay that way until his knees hurt and her tears have slowed and eventually he loops his arms around her and lifts, her frame slight in his arms as he carries her back into the bedroom.

She curls into him when he lays down, fingers curling around the neck of his sweater, knuckles brushing against the skin of his throat and he curls around her protectively, inhaling the scent of her, warm and comforting and smiles, whispering an _I love you_ in her ear.

She hums and her fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, “Love you more.”

He’s not sure that’s possible.

 

The low murmur of voices wakes him the next morning and when he sits up, he finds that once more, she’s gone. Slipping from the bed he wanders out to the living area of the suite, stopping, sleepy eyed and confused at the sight of Angel, clad in his shirt, smiling as she hands what looks to be a rather substantial tip to the room service attendant.

The man’s eyes flick from her state of undress to his, then back again, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before he disappears out the door.

She rounds on him, grinning, “I ordered breakfast.” Pausing, she glances at the tray laden with food and looks hesitant, “it’s pretty expensive, I’m sorry.”

Crossing the room her winds his arms around her waist and peers down at her, “Why are you sorry baby?” he prods, watching as she bites her lip, worry coloring her eyes.

“Because I know this place is fancy, and I don’t, I don’t have the kind of money to pay for it, and I don’t really know how you _do_ ,” she explains, “You’re a priest, aren’t you supposed to be poor?”

At this he laughs, throws back his head and guffaws, heart light with how she makes him happy, stupidly so, it seems. Turning his gaze back to her, he shakes his head and grins at her, “My family is wealthy. I had an inheritance when I was 18, and I never used it. Put it away, let the interest grow, and now, I have more than I’ll ever need.”

Truth be told, he’s got enough money for three lifetimes. He doesn’t know if that will freak her out, and decides to test the waters. “I’ll pay for you to attend NYU, and for your brother and sister to go wherever they want too.”

Her eyes widen and she tugs at his sweater, “That’s…that’s a lot of money.”

“Yea well, I’d never use it all before I died, so spend away baby.”

She stares at him for a moment before giggling, her laughter growing until she’s burying her face in his chest and he’s laughing with her. It feels good, especially after last night, and he holds her a little tighter, letting the tension finally start to drain away.

Eventually she pulls back and grins at him, “Come on, I’m hungry,” she tells him, pushing at him, huffing when he laughs and leans into her hands, letting his weight slow her down. Suddenly he was falling backwards as she steps back, snickering as he stumbles.

Pushing the cart, he follows her into the bedroom, watching as she tucks her long legs under her and crawls beneath the covers once more. “What do you want to eat baby?” He waves towards the trays of pancakes, bacon, eggs, fruit and chocolate croissants. They’ll never be able to eat it all, but he’s amused when she grins and says _everything_.

He fills the plate for her, hands it over and then fills his before he slides under the covers next to her. Flipping on the tv, they watch the news together, laughing and joking as the morning passes into early afternoon. Lazy kisses and heavy petting eats up another hour before they manage to get dressed and head out into the city.

She’s distracting; he can see it in the way other people’s gazes linger on her form. Her jeans are distressed, holes revealing more flesh than they hide and her button down shirt is tied off at her waist, revealing a swath of toned, tanned skin. The first four buttons are undone, revealing the silky lace material of her bralette, tantalizing him with every breath she takes, the gentle rise and fall of her chest distracting as they ride the ferry to the Statue of Liberty.

They take selfies, making silly faces and kissing as the wind whips past them, more at the very top of the statue, the whole of the world laid out before them. He pins her to the railing with his hips as she takes more photos, murmuring how he can’t wait to visit her while she’s going to NYU, how he’s going to get her an apartment all her own so he can fuck her over every surface, until they’re both worked up but unable to do anything about it for now.

She pulls his hand as they stroll through Coney Island, leading him to a hot dog stand where he watches her scarf down not just a hot dog, but fries and a large slushie. If he didn’t know how much she worked out and played sports he’d be mystified at how she stays so fit–though, teenage metabolism has a lot to do with it as well.

They’re walking down the boardwalk after riding the Ferris wheel when a loud, gruff voice calls out his name in disbelief.

“Josh? Josh Brolin?”

He turns, arm slung around her shoulders and goes stone still, heart plummeting into his stomach at the site of his one time seminary friend, Jeffrey Dean Morgan standing before him. The older man had been his best friend while they studied to be priests, but somewhere along the way Jeffrey had come to the realization that he wasn’t cut out to be a priest and Josh, well, he had gone on, despite his own nagging feelings of misplacement within the church.

Angel is staring up at him, wide eyed, glancing back and forth between the two men until Jeffrey takes notice of her and steps forward, hand extended in greeting. “Hello darlin’, who are you?” he asks politely, a faint smirk curling his lips when she blushes and takes the proffered hand.

“Marie Ross,” she murmurs, smiling brightly as she lies through her teeth. Marie is her middle name and she’s sure that shortening her name is the smarter path than telling him her real name. Josh relaxes beside her and grins, extending his hand to Jeffrey before drawing him in to slap a hand against his back.

“Good to see you man,” he murmurs.

They exchange pleasant small talk for a while before they all sit together by a hot dog stand, the smell of the salty meat wafting over in waves. Angel leans into his side and he keeps his arm around her; Jeffrey’s already seen him touching her in a familiar way, it would be suspicious if he suddenly stopped.

“Man, you haven’t even told her half the things we got up to at the seminary!” He grins at Josh, “You remember the time you me, and the soon to be sister Sharon all got drunk on communion wine and got uh _familiar_ with each other?”

Angel’s brows shoot up at that and she smirks as she peers between the two men, her face pink as she chews on her lip. “You guys uh, had a threesome?” she asks, voice low and interested.

Jeffrey grins at her, slow and saucy, “Yea darlin, you wanna know more?” he teases, laughing when she blushes and looks away. Josh glances down at her, meeting her gaze, and is surprised to see the interest there, in her eyes.

She bites her lip and heat simmers in his veins at the look in her eyes. “It was a long time ago Jeff,” he murmurs, tearing his gaze away to turn back and stare at the older man, lips curving into a grin.

“Sure was. Doubt we’d be able to do it again,” Jeffrey muses, eyes darting over to Angel for a moment before sweeping back to caress Josh. A flush of heat warms his skin and he takes a stuttering breath as he recalls in perfect technicolor their time together; he can almost feel the rough sensation of Jeffrey’s tongue against his cock, the demanding feeling of his hands on his waist, their tongues meeting over Sharon’s body as they fucked into her.

“I don’t know, I think we’d do okay,” he murmurs back, hand tightening on Angel’s arm as they circle the topic, heat building in his stomach.

“I think….”Angel hesitates for a moment before grinning, “That you should come have dinner with us Jeffrey. I think I’d like to hear a little more about your time together in the seminary.”

Both men stare at her for a moment before sharing a heated look, tension in the air thicker than the scent of hot dogs wafting on the air.

“Come on! She should know all about your bad habits!” Jeffrey turns to grin at her, “He stole the communion wine more times than anyone else, played poker– _strip poker_ – and broke the hearts of more than one nun in training. A few priests too,” he murmurs, giving her a lascivious grin.

Angel laughs and sways into Josh, giggling as the buzz of wine fills her blood, warms her cheeks and makes her heart thump a little irregularly. Her gaze swings up to meet his, cheeks flushed and pupils wide and a hunger gnaws in his belly at the look in her eyes.

“Sounds like you two did more sinning than praying,” she teases, eliciting a roar of laughter from Jeffrey.

“Seems like you’ve been both been sinning your fair share too,” he replies archly, grinning when she flushes and ducks her chin. Her eyes come back up, blazing with humor and desire and Josh can see he’s enchanted, just like he was so long ago. It makes his blood burn, and he’s surprised how much it excites him, to see another man desiring her.

“I dunno, I think two priests in training having a threesome is pretty dirty, don’t you?” she murmurs, back, closing the distance between them across the table, tilting her head to an appealing angle. Jeffrey stares at her, the moment heavy between them before he hums and runs his tongue over his teeth, nodding slowly.

“Do you think that means we need to be punished?” he asks her, and Josh can feel the way she tenses for a moment, inhaling sharply before she melts forward and murmurs back, “Yes,” her breathy reply sending a shiver up the spines of both men.

“Why don’t we go back to the room for a drink?” she suggests, brows lifting. Turning to Josh, she leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips, “I like your friend daddy,” she whispers, words just loud enough to carry to Jeffrey.

Both men watch her, stunned, as she rises from the table and sashays to the lobby, heading for the elevator before she’s gone from sight and they’re left, staring at where she was, the imprint of her words and body seared into their minds.

Music is playing when Josh opens the door to the suite, followed closely by Jeffrey. Peering around, he frowns at the empty living area, shutting the door behind them before stepping further into the room, noting the three glasses of amber liquid on the coffee table.

The bedroom door creaks open and his gaze swings to the sound, jaw dropping when he sees Angel in the doorway, gaze trailing over the vast expanse of bare skin exposed by the lingerie on display. Where the ones from last night were black these are a pale, blushing pink, soft and sweet, alluring in a way that makes his skin shiver as he looks at this young woman who has so utterly captivated him.

Garters meet the tops of her silky thighs, the pale blush of her cunt just barely visible behind the lace, the corset she’s wearing is mostly undone so her breasts peek precariously over the edges, just breaths away from falling out. 

Striding over, he looms over her, eyes dark and hungry on her and he can feel Jeffrey staring from behind him, the man speechless for once in his life.

“What do you want baby girl?” he asks, holding her gaze steadily, curious to see if this is what she really wants.

Her lips part, shiny and red from being bitten and he swears he can smell her arousal already. One large hand slides over the exposed skin of her belly, both of them shuddering at the sensation, and then she’s nodding sharply, breathing unsteadily.

“I want you…I want you both,” she whispers, voice throaty and low. “I want…” she swallows hard, “I want you to share me. To use me. Make me scream and cry and beg.” Her eyes are wide and glazed with lust as she stares up at him, swaying towards him as her knees quake.

His hand skims up her body, closing around her throat so he can tip her chin up, her sharp gasp igniting the lust glowing like an ember in his stomach. He studies her for a moment before nodding, “Okay baby, what do you say if you want to stop?” he prompts.

“Fire engine.”

“And if you need a break or need something different?”

“Sunset.”

Nodding, he firms his jaw and tightens the hold on her throat, eliciting a whimper from her as he shoves her, turning her so she’s pressed against his chest and facing Jeffrey. The older man is staring at them, wide eyed, watching as Josh keeps his grip tight on her throat, arching her body out in a display of dominance and desire.

“Jeffrey, my little princess would like us both to fuck her, would you be interested?” he asks politely, grinning when the other man just stares, wide eyed and stunned. “Jeffrey,” he calls, “would you be interested?” he asks again.

The other man finally nods, looking shaky as Josh grins brightly and then forcibly hauls Angel over to the couch, laying her over his lap so her ass pops into the air, tantalizingly bare, just  a thin strip of fabric between her thick cheeks. His large hand caresses the skin of her ass, soothing before he gets started.

Jeffrey walks over, stiff legged and enraptured, watching for a moment before Josh grins up at him and waves a hand towards the couch. “Sit.” He pauses a moment before joining them on the couch, angling his body towards the couple, hands knotting in the fabric as he watches eagerly.

“You know, only little _sluts_ want to be fucked by two men. Is that what you are little one, a _slut_?”

His voice is low and commanding, sending a shiver over her spine that’s visible to both men.

“No Father Brolin, I’m not, I promise,” she murmurs urgently, a false sweetness to her voice; candy coated innocence that she can no longer claim. His fingers splay over her ass, pointer finger pressing down into the plug that’s back between her cheeks. It’s average sized and he worries for a moment that it’s not enough to prepare her for either of them to take her ass, but he makes a silent vow that neither of them will take her before she’s ready.

“Then what’s _this_?” he demands, tapping on the plug firmly so she moans, arching into the touch.

“It’s….I don’t know!” she moans, “I’m sorry!”

He growls and swats a hand at her ass, “You will be sweetheart. Your ass is mine to play with; only sluts play with their asses. Did you play with your cunt too?” he demands, smacking her ass when she doesn’t reply right away.

“Y-yes! I’m sorry!”

“You will be,” he promises again. “Count them and say thank you,” he growls, rubbing a hand over her ass for a moment before he swats her ass, once on each side, sharp and firm.

She counts them dutifully, shivering as he continues, her moans soft as she arches into his touch, eager for more.

“What a little slut,” he comments as he lays the seventh and eight strike on her ass, glancing over at Jeffrey to share a smirk. His gaze sweeps down, eyeing the other man’s erection before he grins devilishly. “Baby, Jeffrey has something he needs your help with,” he tells her, lifting her up so her torso rests on the couch, her head resting on his friend’s knee.

Jeffrey takes the hint and unzips his jeans, pulling his cock out and stroking it slowly, a pearl of cum beading at the head.

“Open up baby,” he murmurs, watching with pride as she leans in and opens her mouth wide so Jeffrey can feed her his cock. It’s thick, thicker than his and just a little shorter, and he enjoys watching her eyes water as it’s thrust down her throat, spreading her mouth wide open.

She groans and hums, bobbing her head over the thick length of it before Jeffrey knots his fingers into her hair to hold her in place so he can thrust into her mouth, the sound of her choking and moaning filling the space between them. Josh takes the opportunity to spank her harder and faster, grinning when she’s unable to count like he instructed her.

Jeffrey relents eventually, pulling her head from his cock so she can gasp and splutter, spit and cum dripping from her lips. His cock is red and throbbing, and Josh’s aches in sympathy, but he doesn’t relent, not yet.

“Oh sweetheart, you lost count didn’t you?”

She whines and shakes her head, “No Father Brolin, it was fifteen,” she insists.

He’s impressed, honestly, that she was able to keep track while being fucked and spanked, so he relents, squeezing her ass firmly. “You’re right baby, it was fifteen. But I think you need a few more, huh?” She nods and he smiles softly, proud of her. “Keep counting,” he orders before resuming.

He watches as she moans and arches into the strikes, straining forward to place kitten licks over Jeffrey’s cock, keeping him hard and wanting while she’s being punished and, he just, he’s so damn _proud_ of her for asking for what she wants so he can give her whatever she wants, whether it’s this, or her favorite meal or tuition for college–he’ll give her whatever she wants, _always._

When he’s given her forty spanks, he stops, stroking her ass slowly, letting her sobbing gasps die until she’s just moaning softly, arching into his touch. Glancing over at Jeffrey, he grins, eyeing his cock, still hard, and throbbing against his stomach.

“Why don’t we do something about that?” he suggests, sharing a grin with the other man. Jeffrey nods and reaches a hand out into her hair, tilting her face so he can see her eyes, smiling softly at her, gaze fond already.

“Hey darlin, why don’t you put that luscious mouth to good use,” he suggests, grinning when she nods and leans up, lips encircling the head of his cock, tongue licking around the sensitive tip, lapping at the foreskin until he’s shuddering and on the brink of release.

Jeffrey pulls her off his cock, gasping for air and shakes his head at Josh, “I’m not as young as I was and I don’t think you want this to take forever, huh?”

Josh grins and shrugs, “Come down her throat, we’ve got all night,” he assures the other man, sharing a dark, lustful look before he leans forward and wraps a hand around his neck so he can press their lips together. It’s been many years since they shared an embrace like this, but it’s still very much the same; firm and hungry, tasting of whiskey and desire and sets his blood on fire.

Angel squirms in his lap and he tears away, licking his lips as he smirks down at her. “See something you like baby?” he teases, grinning when she flushes and nods fervently. Grabbing her around the waist, he maneuvers her to her knees so she’s resting between Jeffrey’s thighs, “Go on baby, make Jeffrey cum,” he orders, watching her take a deep steadying breath before she leans in and takes his cock back into her mouth.

He gives her all of two passes before he’s leaning in and kissing Jeffrey, tongues twining together and he can feel the fine tremor running over the other man’s body as his Angel sucks his cock.

Hands trailing down Jeffrey’s chest, he tweaks at his nipples, drawing louder groans from him as Angel takes him deep in her throat and swallows. Glancing down, he can see she’s fondling his balls and rubbing on his perineum as her tongue and mouth work the sensitive skin of Jeffrey’s cockhead.

He sucks a dark mark onto Jeffrey’s throat, fingers digging into his hair to hold him in place, throat taut as he ravages all the old familiar places. Jeffrey is loud—he almost forgot how he gets when he’s close—and a few moments later he’s groaning and cursing as he cums, hand fisted in Angel’s hair to keep his cock pressed down her throat.

When he does release her she’s gasping for air, lips and chin smeared with cum and spit, mascara smudged beneath her lashes, looking utterly wrecked. She looks up to him, eyes hooded with lust and leans into Jeffrey’s knee, “Did I do good Father Brolin?”

He smirks, “Why don’t you ask Jeffrey baby? He’s the one who had his cock down your throat.”

She flushes a darker pink and then nods, lifting her gaze to the older man. “Was I good sir?” she asks, voice hoarse from the stretch of his cock.

“Fuck baby you were _so good_ ,” Jeffrey praises, reaching down to cup her cheek gently. Preening, she leans into the touch and smiles happily, eyes half closed under the attention of both men.

Josh watches them for a moment before clearing his throat and drawing her attention. He gives his tented jeans a pointed look, “Are you forgetting something baby?”

She hums and shakes her head, crawling over on her knees before she’s undoing his jeans and pulling his cock from within. She gives the weeping tip a few kitten licks before swallowing it down, moaning around his length as her fingers tighten in the meat of his thighs.

He lets her get a few strokes in before grabbing her hair and holding her in place while fucks her mouth hard and fast, chasing his release. She moans and gags, nails biting his skin until he’s coming with a gritted shout of her name.

When he pulls her off his cock she chokes and gasps, utterly ruined as she coughs and peers up at him through tears eyes. Hand falling heavy on her head, he pets her hair gently, genuine pride and affection filling his gaze.

“What a good girl,” he croons, “do you need a drink?” He offers, smiling when she nods and offers her the glass of whiskey she had poured earlier. She drains it, wincing at the burn and he lets her breathe steadily for a few moments before he pulls her into his lap, spine pressing into his chest.

Spreading her thighs over his legs, he orders her to wrap them around his, leaving her cunt open and exposed to Jeffrey, who is watching with avid interest as Josh tells her to stay still for him.

Hands trailing up her thighs, he shakes his head when his fingers press into the slip of material covering her cunt. “So wet,” he growls in her ear, “did you get wet from having your mouth used little one? Are you such a slut that that’s all it takes to make you wet?”

She whines and shakes her head, “No Father Brolin, I swear!”

Laughing in her ear he swipes aside the soaked material and plunges two fingers into her, eliciting a sharp whine and a buck of her hips before he abruptly withdraws them and slaps the inside of her thigh.

“Hold still slut.”

Jeffrey groans as she nods and wiggles and Josh meets his hungry gaze, smirking when he sees his friend and lover’s cock is getting hard again. It’s not a difficult thing to manage when they get to play with an angel; her sweetness and easy surrender is heady, intoxicating.

Thrusting his fingers back in, he fucks her with them, hard and fast until she’s shaking and moaning, then slowing until she’s begging, voice wavering as she struggles not to move, earning sharp slaps to her thighs when she can’t stay still.

He brings her to the edge over and over again, hand shiny with her arousal, four fingers buried in her cunt as she whimpers and begs brokenly, tears on her cheeks as she shakes in his arms.

When he withdraws his fingers leaving her without release she shudders in his lap, breaths coming in sharp pants as he grins over at Jeffrey who is now fully hard again. His own cock has been filling slowly and he’s eager, ready to move on and fuck her for real.

Standing, he lifts her into his arms and carries her to their bedroom, Jeffrey following close behind. Tossing her on the bed, he strips and then crouches over her, tugging at the corset she wears till her breasts pop over the edge and he can lean down to fill his mouth with her nipples.

He takes his time while Jeffrey undresses, watching from the corner of his eye as his friend sits on the bed beside them, languidly stroking his cock as Josh nips and pinches and sucks on her nipples till they’re bright red, swollen, and she’s once more sobbing in need.

Pulling away, he grins at his friend as he rises from the bed to search out the lube from his bag. “Torture her pretty little nipples,” he suggests, rooting through the bag till he finds what he was looking for.

When he turns back he grins at the sight before him; Angel is sitting in Jeffrey’s lap, her breasts being tortured while she grinds into his cock, moaning and begging for release.

“Please! Please sir, oh please let me cum!”

Tossing the lube on the bed he slaps her ass and pulls her upright, one large hand banding around her throat so her head is tilted back at an almost uncomfortable angle. “You don’t cum until we say so, got it slut?”

She’s barely able to nod but when she does he smiles and leans down to kiss her, whispering “good girl” against her lips.

Pushing her down onto her chest, he pulls her hips up so he can see the plug in her ass clearly; running his finger around her stretched rim he hums and listens to her moan. “Is this where you want me, baby?”

She nods eagerly, “Please, please, please Daddy, want you so bad,” she moans, pushing back into his hands.

Groaning, he nods and grabs the lube, squirting some onto the plug as he draws it out and then fucks it back into her, wiggling and circling it slowly. When he’s sure she’s relaxed, he pulls it out and slides two slick fingers into her hole, scissoring them till she moans and rocks back against him.

Jerking his chin at Jeffrey, he motions the man forward, “Eat her out but don’t let her cum,” he orders, grinning as the other man nods and slides around till he’s under her and can latch onto her cunt.

Her thighs tremble as the two men toy with her, taking her to the edge again and again. He’s got three fingers in her, but knows it’s not quite enough yet so he slicks them up and slides his pinkie in while his thumb runs around her rim, stretching it out and massaging in the lube.

She’s loud now; begging and moaning, voice high and needy as he and Jeffrey take her apart and his stomach is in knots at how hot she is inside, hot and wet and tight and he knows that when he gets inside her he’s gonna last only so long before he gives in to that beautiful clench of her body.

Finally, he nudges Jeffrey away from her cunt and nods, “Angel, Jeffrey is going to fuck your cunt while Daddy takes your ass, okay?”

She’s slow to respond and when she does it’s through a slurred, punch drunk voice and he worries she’s not altogether coherent enough for this.

“Baby, are you still good? Still green?”

She nods slowly, “Y-yeah daddy, green.”

Sighing in relief, he keeps his fingers in her ass while pushing her a little bit forward so Jeffrey has room to move until his condom covered cock is below her cunt, red and straining and hard.

“Ok baby, sit up,” he murmurs, praising when she does so he can guide her onto Jeffrey’s cock, both men groaning at the wet noise of her cunt sinking down over it.

She shudders and her breathing grows unsteady, voice whiny as she sinks down, “Fuck, daddy, he’s so thick…”

“I know baby, feels good, huh?”

She nods again and Jeffrey squeezes her hips, drawing her dazed gaze down to him, “Such a beautiful cunt you have sweetheart. Too bad I’m gonna wreck it, fill it up with my cum till it’s dripping down your thighs,” he tells her gruffly, jaw tight as he holds still.

Josh slicks up his cock and positions himself at her hole, exchanging his fingers for the head of his cock one digit at a time so she’s spread around both, the stretch making her whine and roll her hips.

Both men hold her steady as Josh breaths heavily, thick head of his cock tugging at her rim in short abortive thrusts. “Green baby?”

“Greengreengreen,” she babbles, “Please, god, green Daddy!”

With a groan he pushes in slowly, biting his cheek as her ass takes him, inch by inch, and he can feel the bulge of Jeffrey’s cock pressing back and _oh god_ is it good.

“Fuck…so full…daddy…unh unh unh…feel you daddy!”

She’s loud and needy and when he looks down she’s got a hand pressed to her stomach where he can see a bulge, and fuck, it makes him ache to pound into her in a possessive haze, but for now, he groans loudly and rocks into her, thrusts incremental and slow.

“Unh unh unh, daddy, oh god, oh god, so full!”

Jeffrey groans beneath her and starts thrusting as Josh pulls out, their rhythm synchronized so she’s never empty, always full, and if anything her cries grow louder, pitched higher until she sounds like she’s going to break.

“Please?!”

Their combined moans and groans fill the room, the wet slap of their cocks slamming into her loud, but not as loud as she is; “Please, daddy, sir, oh! Need to cum, please?”

“No,” he growls, slapping a hand against her ass, groaning when her hole clenches in retaliation. “Not till I say so,” he rasps; though he’s close too and a look at Jeffrey’s face tells him he is as well.

She whines and sobs and begs, held in place between their bodies so they can ravage her. He presses her down until her chest is against Jeffrey’s and the angle change makes her shriek, sobbing loudly as her cunt and ass spasm around them.

He can hear the way her cunt is wet, sees it on her thighs and slaps her ass, “Slut! I said not to come!”

“Sorry! Sorrysorrysorry,” she chants, “daddy, sorry.”

He pulls out, earning a high pitched cry from her and a moan from Jeffrey at the loss of sensation. Stumbling back, he crouches over his bag, hands trembling and thighs shaking from the adrenaline and lust coursing through his veins.

When he finds what he’s looking for he stalks back over and thrusts back into her, baring his teeth at the hot sheath of her clenching around him. Sliding a hand down her hip and to her cunt, he presses the bullet vibrator to her clit and turns it on—full blast.

Her corresponding shriek is so loud he worries for a moment that someone will think she’s hurt, and then the vice of her ass clamps down on him and he can’t think of anything.

Jeffrey curses as her cunt does the same, both of them thrusting shallowly as she’s forced to cum over and over again. Release pulses out of her cunt as her body convulses almost violently, her voice breaking as she screams, eyes rolled back in her head, entirely consumed with pleasure.

Josh knows it must almost hurt, with the way she’s sobbing and crying out, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps the vibrator there as he thrusts, groaning and grunting her name. Jeffrey comes first, cursing loudly as he spills into the condom.

He’s not more than a few thrusts behind and then he’s spilling inside her, hunching over as brilliant lights blind him and his gut burns, hips moving in short thrusts until he can’t come anymore. He feels like he can’t breathe, like his lungs have been set on fire and his entire body shakes as he groans in her ear.

They stay that way, Angel pressed between them, for a few long minutes as they catch their breath. She’s moaning weakly before she goes limp, breathing shallowly, eyes plastered shut. Josh pulls out slowly, grimacing at her shivering moan, soothing her with a hand over her back.

“It’s ok baby, just breathe,” he murmurs, staring at her ass, watching as it clenches, his cum sliding out slowly. His gut burns at the sight, desire and pride and something darker burning into him at the sight. Her thighs are painted with her release and lube and without thinking he trails his fingers through the mess, trembling as he rubs it into her skin for a moment.

Pulling away, he meets the gaze of Jeffrey, sharing a tired, affectionate smile before jerking his head towards the bathroom. “Hold onto her while I run a bath,” he murmurs, waiting for the other man’s bod before hurrying away.

Angel is barely coherent or conscious, held firm in Jeffrey’s arms, the blankets pulled up around them when she shivers and moves restlessly. He peers at her where she’s got her cheek pressed to his chest, eyes hooded but lips curled up in an exhausted smile.

“Hey there sweetheart,” Jeffrey murmurs, smiling softly at her, “you were incredible,” he praises, watching as she flushes and nuzzles into the hand stroking her cheek.

“Thank you sir.”

Her voice is weak and raspy, but the pleasure in her eyes at the praise is genuine and it sends a little shiver of delight through him. She’s pure and sweet and far too good for either him or Josh, but if she loves Josh, he can only support his friend and his lover however he can.

He’ll be interested to hear how Josh got entangled in this mess and what he plans to do about the fact that he’s still a priest.

The man in question returns and gently lifts Angel into his arms, shushing her when she makes a soft noise, tucking her head into his throat. Jeffrey watches as they disappear into the bathroom before Josh is back and waving a hand.

“This tub is big enough to seat four,” he murmurs with a grin, “might as well get clean now.”

Jeffrey follows Josh into the bathroom and into the tub, sighing as the hot water soothes his muscles. He watches as Josh washes Angel, murmuring softly to her as his fingers rub through her hair. It’s sweet and tender and entirely unlike any experience he’s ever shared with the man.

By the time they’re all clean, Angel is mostly asleep, limbs loose and limp as Josh tucks her into one of his T-shirts and a pair of clean panties. Josh tugs on his briefs and Jeffrey follows suit, the pair heading out to the living room suite to enjoy a few fingers of whiskey.

The bedroom door is cracked open so he can hear if she calls for him, but he doubts very much that will happen; she was snoring when they walked out and he’s not too far behind her in terms of exhaustion.

Jeffrey eyes him speculatively from across the way as he reclines into the plush couch, eyes hooded and dark. There’s a speculative gleam in them that Josh knows means his old friend and lover has been thinking and now has something to say.

Taking a seat on the chaise diagonal from him, Josh sips his whiskey and waves a hand— _go ahead_ it says.

Jeffrey smirks and takes another sip before speaking.

“You’re in love with her.”

It’s not a question and Josh doesn’t treat it as such, just lifts a brow as he waits for something to respond to.

“She’s 18, pretty young, don’t you think?”

Josh contemplates it for a minute, sipping his whiskey before responding.

“She is young, but she’s also just gone through a tremendous loss in her life that has demanded she grow up far faster than her peers.”

He pauses and chuckles, “Or you and I for that matter.”

Jeffrey laughs softly too, the two men sharing a knowing look loaded with affection and memories. The older man smiles and shakes his head thoughtfully, “What the hell were you thinking man? She’s a student, she has to be confused as fuck about this,” he murmurs, brow furrowing, “You honestly think this was a smart decision?”

Josh laughs harshly, shaking his head slowly as he takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Hell no it wasn’t smart Jeff, but when have you ever known me to display any sign of intelligence?”

Jeffrey doesn’t laugh at this, frowns instead. “So what are you going to do?” he asks, “leave the church? Marry her? Have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence?” he drawls sarcastically.

Josh bites back his temper; Jeffrey wouldn’t ask these questions if he wasn’t a good, decent man who was worried for his friend, so answering in anger isn’t going to come across well.

“Yea actually. I’m working on the paperwork and I plan to leave when she graduates and goes to college. I’ll be the guardian to her siblings and one day, I’ll marry her.”

He pauses and grins, “and I was thinking one kid to start. Maybe a cat, or a dog.” His lips curl into a soft, warm smile as he pictures Angel, not for the first time, pregnant and soft, all curves and new life.

Jeffrey watches his friend with amusement, realizing just how in love he was with the young woman sleeping in the other room. To give up his calling to the church, to take on parenthood and marriage…it was all an enormous change from the wild young man he had known decades ago.

Smiling softly, he nodded and raised his glass in a toast, “Here’s to your future then man.” They tapped glasses and shared a smile before sinking back into their seats, sipping on the whiskey till it was gone. When Josh rose to head back to bed, Jeffrey gathered up his clothes and bade him a quiet goodnight before slipping out, the soft click of the door loud in the quiet of the suite.

As Josh slid into bed next to Angel, he laid on his side, watching her sleep, heart painfully tight in his chest. If someone had told him six months ago that he would fall into a relationship with a woman nearly twenty years his junior–one of his students noless–he wouldn’t have believed it.

He had been responsible, mature, cool headed, a good priest and leader to the community, but when he had begun noticing Angel and her brilliance, beauty and charm, he had been drawn to her, unable to look away, unable to ignore his growing attraction.

He couldn’t imagine his life without her now. The mere idea of her ever leaving him, not loving him, it made his stomach hurt and his heart beat irregularly. He’d do anything to keep her happy, to make sure she stayed in his life for the rest of his days.

Her lashes fluttered on her cheeks, long and thick and dark and it made his heart flutter in reply. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her brow, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin like it was everything he needed to survive. She made a soft noise in her sleep and without hesitation, he slid his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, humming contentedly when her nose brushed against his skin.

“I love you my sweet Angel,” he whispered, hands tightening on her as she made soft noises and wiggled against him. When she had settled his eyes slid closed, inhaling the scent of her, feeling the heat of her pressed against him like a balm to his soul, and he knew, he was irrevocably hers.

Always.


End file.
